


The Second Coming

by leogrl19



Series: DA2 Comics, you know, WITH Hawke [1]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-14
Updated: 2014-12-10
Packaged: 2017-12-29 11:02:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 30,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1004657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leogrl19/pseuds/leogrl19
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isabela and Hawke's adventures after Kirkwall. Based on the Dragon Age comics, The Silent Grove, Those Who Speak, and Until We Sleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Broken

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, this is the same leogrl19 from fanfic. Yes, I abandoned it and am now on another site (ESCANDALO). From this point on, I will OFFICIALLY be continuing The Second Coming (and Priority One) here.  
> I would never presume being so well known that everyone who reads this will know what I'm referring to, but it's here for those that do. Keep calm and think of Gaile. ;)
> 
> Here's my wondrously snarktastic intro to the story for those who haven't already read it:
> 
> Things I don't believe in:
> 
> \- The tooth fairy  
> \- Romancing Fenris/Anders  
> \- Dragon Age 3  
> \- Any Hawke being fully sane after all the crap they had to deal with in DA2. More so if they got the utter shit beat out of them and lost everything.
> 
> Naturally, I came to the conclusion that, with new story, more so than just putting my spin on the comics, I have the perfect opportunity to explore darker issues often swept under the rug – primarily with Gaile (Hawke) in this first chapter, and how she's dealing with everything after Kirkwall.
> 
> So, honeymoon phase is over, children. Because – golly gee – it wouldn't be a DA story without dark, tragic twists.

* * *

  _Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;_

* * *

She couldn't _breathe_.

Desperate fingers clawed the invisible pressure seizing her neck, ripping away the fabric there, trying to _loosen_ it – needing the thick, terrible lump lodged in her throat to just _go away_.

She gasped brokenly.

Maker…

 _Maker_ –

The **_pain_** ….

Gaile gripped the edge of the ship fiercely, nails digging into wood until it splintered – needing the _distraction_ …Before releasing the rail to pace.

 _Go away_.

Her chest burned.

 _Go_ ** _away_**.

Her head throbbed.

And she _couldn't_ –

Couldn't **_stop_** _it_.

All the **bad** sneaking up on her at once….

Harsh digits drummed against her temple as she fought tears she was helpless against, her world reduced to an obscure, wet blur.

"Having fun without me?"

A sharp breath.

Her blood ran cold.

 _Isabela_ …

The rogue tried to turn – tried to _flee_ – but was immediately prevented, a warm, supple body keeping her where she was as an arm locked around her torso.

"Try to calm down." A murmur lacking humor; Isabela's free hand was on her chest, shifting low to apply a firm pressure. "In and out…" her dulcet tone was an anchor. "Whatever you're thinking – it can't get you here."

Gaile felt her face contort with pain, rocking violently against the other's hold – wanting to break away, wanting to _stay_ – teeth clenched as she stared at an abysmal, night sky.

 _Everything_ …

 ** _Just_** –

"… _Hurts_ …" a choked cry – and she _hated_ it, _hated_ that she'd allowed herself to _be_ this: **pitiful** – _weak_ – lacking any semblance of **_control_** ….

But the pirate's grip only grew tighter, sweet, _tender_ things whispered in her ear. Intermittent ' _shhs_ ' while gentle lips brushed its lobe–

And it was as if her body stilled _despite_ itself: the gnarled ball of anxiety, the frantic ache of muscle – all gradually _loosening_ – _completely overruled_ by the other's ministrations.

A **weighty** silence fell between them – _unbearable_ , as Gaile continued to regulate her breathing…It not long before she was utterly assailed by sharp pinpricks of embarrassment and shame.

Still… _irrevocably_ –

 ** _Shaken_**.

As if sensing it, Isabela's arm slipped from her body, releasing her, the pirate saying nothing.

A nervous breath.

Her hands _clenched_.

"Gaile…" and it's so personal – so _intimate_ – she couldn't help a tearful sigh.

Her feet moved of their own accord, given no choice when summoned by _that_ voice. The rogue's eyes were quick across the other's form, never settling – managing to catch the uncovered hair, the tunic loose around her curves without an accompanying sash or corset…

It all speaking of _rush_ and _urgency_.

Twin brows dipped low.

"I didn't want to wake you."

"I don't care about that."

Her gaze fell to the wood beneath their feet, having no ready response.

She hadn't wanted to disturb _anyone_ : not the few crew charged with the night shift and certainly not their _captain_ …So, she fled their shared quarters and found a secluded spot on the ship with which to deal with the matter.

Deal with **it** , until **it** went away.

Because that was what she was _good_ at. Life did not give her time to dwell – Kirkwall had not let her stop to breathe, and now it was all she _knew_.

One of her hands was apprehended without warning and her eyes immediately shot up, witnessing a deep frown mar the pirate's expression while amber orbs throughly examined raw, chafed skin.

"What happened here?"

A grin she couldn't manage. "Bad dream." She wanted to wipe her eyes – knowing it was foolish, knowing Isabela had surely spotted the damp trails there – but wanting to _anyway_ , as if it would erase being discovered – _seen_ ; the rogue winced, even with the other's careful touches. "My hands…I thought…" she bit her lip, "they're...clean, right?" She couldn't bear to look at her. "No blood?"

"Are they?"

Soft, yet firm, and Gaile _knew_ what she was doing.

She took a deep breath, squinting at her hand, fingers trembling – revolving it again and again in the other's grasp. "…Yes." Isabela nodded and she returned it shakily. "They…I couldn't get it off. The blood." Which hadn't even _been_ there. _Flames_ … "No matter how hard I scrubbed…I just… _couldn't_ …" she gritted her teeth, finally chancing a meet of their eyes, seeing the worry there, the irrefutable _unease_ – it the reason she chose to hide herself away. "I'm sorry."

"Do that again and I'll hit you." The pirate actually glared at her, and Gaile was shocked by the sudden edge to her tone – as if her words had been _insulting_. "I've lied to you, betrayed you countless times, even left you for years, and you – what? Think this one, tiny thing of yours will be a deal breaker for me?" Her scoff was unimpressed. "Please. You haven't even stolen a Qunari relic."

"As far as you know…" a tug at the corner of her mouth that could only be known as _familiar_.

It was an out for both of them. A chance to turn the tables on this conversation. To not feel so…

 _Vulnerable_.

A single finger found her lips, the pirate instantly banishing the forced expression. "Aren't we past that?"

Gaile smiled sadly…Because, she should have _known_ by now, there was nothing she could hide from this woman. That, if her lover put her mind to it, there wouldn't be a single part of her left uncovered.

Isabela could have it _all_.

 _Consume_ her.

And she would be all too willing to give it all away…

The other sighed, bending to lift a half-emptied whiskey bottle, only to set it aside. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No…" Gaile shut her eyes, "Yes." She had to get better at this – _used_ to it, unafraid of _feeling_. Unafraid of Isabela's reaction to it. "I just…need a moment…." She made her way to the ship's railing, chilled winds whipping across her face as she tasted salt and sea; a shaky breath. "I…couldn't picture her face." The rogue's hands shook, before clenching tightly. "Bethany's. It was the same Deep Roads dream – the same nightmare – but I couldn't remember my sister's _face_. Not beyond what those darkspawn did to her." Her lip trembled. "Not like I used to."

"Hawke…"

She shook her head fiercely, nails carving into the flesh of her palm. "I can remember the dagger I used to kill her. Its pommel, its steel, how many damned nicks it had in the blade – how _easily_ it…" her voice broke and she cursed it, her next breath ragged as she felt more of the burning tears, "But I _can't_ …remember _her_."

Where the beauty mark fell on her cheek – how deep her dimples set when she smiled – the specific wrinkle in her brow when she had teased her…

And that was… _unthinkable_.

 ** _Horrifying_** –

That she could just  _forget_ her family – that it could only take _years_ …Losing bits and pieces – unable to summon the right images; helpless against the _changing_ : the constant shift of what she thought remembered and what had been _real_.

Gaile tensed, feeling an immediate warmth press into her back, seep into her _skin_ , as Isabela's hands trailed down her arms, gently unclasping her fists.

"You're scared you'll lose them?" Hushed.

"I'm scared I already have." The admittance made her brows furrow. "A part of me knows it would be…easier. There would be less pain, less…" **_everything_** , "but I don't _want_ to – I _can't_." Her voice was a betrayal: desperate; _miserable_. "If I forget them, lose them all a second time–" an unstable breath, "how will I remember all the _good_? How will I remember my _family_?"

She was immediately turned around. "Listen to me," the pirate's gaze was unyielding, "you forgetting your family would be like me forgetting the sea – it _isn't_ _possible_." Isabela joined their hands a second time, fingers easily slipping through corresponding shapes. "Your family, those memories: it's part of you, Hawke. It's what makes you the bloody perfect person that you are." A reaffirming squeeze – despite her words. "Nothing can change that."

Gaile exhaled, closing her eyes…because she knew this.

She _knew_.

 ** _Yet_** …

Isabela raised her chin, forcing her to meet amber depths. "That isn't the source, is it?" The rogue hated the rushing concern, darkening the other's beautiful features once more. "How often does this happen? How long were you…" _unsure_ , "in that state?"

"The frenzied hand-washing and demented mutterings, you mean?" Her tone was a stretched cord. "And then there's the crazed pacing and occasional retching, so surely over an hour…"

A pointed look. "You know what I mean. You've had nightmares: times you'd wake up gasping and disoriented…" her brows furrowed, "But, I've never seen you like this."

"You weren't supposed to now."

The pirate frowned and Gaile stiffened, the flash of hurt in her eyes cutting as deep as any blade…But, _Maker_ – _how_ did one _do this_? How was she supposed to tell the woman she loved she was steadily losing control? How was she supposed to explain that there might come a time where being with her was no longer _safe_?

These… _attacks_ – she couldn't predict them, couldn't prepare. They struck at random: sometimes days, weeks – months in-between, but always the same. **_Paralyzing_** her with memories – stripping her _bare_. Until she wasn't a Champion, wasn't the hero, wasn't _perfect_ …Instead, becoming something too **heavy** ; too _painful_ –

Too _true_.

A **_failure_**.

"Whatever you're thinking, you'd best stop thinking it." The same sharp tone – the same awful glare.

The rogue looked away. "I don't want this for you."

Isabela huffed, crossing her arms. "Well, then, it's a good thing it isn't your decision."

Her eyes narrowed, unamused. "I won't be your burden."

 **There** –

The thing they both refused to say:

What if it only got _worse_?

The other leaned forward, guiding their lips to something _deep_ and _slow_ … ** _Necessary_** – until parting only inches, amber orbs claiming her. "A burden's something you don't sign up for." Sure. _Immediate_ – Gaile feeling something _tremble_ ; _loosen_ – **_break_** , at the words; searching fingers grazed her cheek. "It's…difficult, isn't it? Keeping it to yourself? From me?" Another flash of pain, before it was deemed unimportant. "You don't have to bear it alone. I can share your burdens too, Hawke." Just a statement, as if the pirate simply wanted to make sure she _knew_. "Whatever this is, you'll conquer it like every other damned thing that's ever stood in your way." A step closer. "And if you do change, turn into whatever terrible thing you think you'll turn into…" she shrugged, "I'll love whatever you become."

Another tear – _unbidden_ – _hot,_ against her cheek:

Not because of sadness – the utter uncertainty that was their future, but because, even now, hearing **that** word – _seeing it_ – was still the _sweetest_ _shock_ …

Open and bare. Pure and unadulterated–

 ** _Devotion_** ….

Her heart _swelled_.

"I don't deserve you…" _out_ – before her head could _catch_ it.

Isabela scoffed. "You deserve better. But, you're stuck with me. Poor sod." They exchanged fragile smiles; a thumb brushed the corner of her eye, wiping the wetness there. "Will you come to bed?"

Soft. A _plea_.

The rogue caught her hand, holding it in her own – bringing it to her lips…closing her eyes…Wanting to _feel_ a _connection_ – to not be so _far away_ …. She shook her head. "I don't think it's a good idea. Not as I am." A heavy pause; their eyes met. "I just…need to wait this out."

"Then I'm waiting it out with you." The pirate stared at her, amber orbs resolute. "It just so happens you've ruined me for sleep. Now, I can't pass out unless I hear that wretched snoring of yours."

Gaile smiled: from the words – from the _effort_ , wishing she could offer _more_ – banish the **_darkness_** , the crushing, creeping shadows, and take the other in her arms – to _their_ _bed_ – and everything would just be _okay_.

But it _wasn't_.

And she didn't want to drag the other woman **down** _with her_.

Another kiss, her lips grazing each knuckle before her lover's hand was released. "Find a way to sleep." She willed her smile to grow, even as the other eyed her incredulously. "I need to be alone – do this alone." A dip in her brows. "Sort everything out…" The other was unconvinced; Gaile's expression hardened. "Isabela. Please."

The pirate's mouth parted, wanting to argue, to curse, to say _something_ – and she had never _seen_ the other woman so put out, it an entirely new, _blinding_ sort of **_pain_** …

But this was for the best.

 _It_ …

A step back. Another. Widening the chasm between them…Until Gaile turned away, unable to _look_ at **it** –

The _hurt_ –

The _disappointment_.

A hand gripped her chest. Her eyes stung.

She focused on placing one foot in front of the other.

* * *

 

One.

Two.

Three:

 _Pull_ –

A harsh grunt.

 _Hold_ …

Her muscles ached.

 _Release_.

A grateful breath.

Gaile wiped her brow, the freed hand glistening with freshly gained moisture as she secured another knot in the heavy rope – only to start anew.

One

Two

Three

An effortless rhythm.

 _Mindless_.

A thing to keep her hands busy and her head occupied, while her fingers danced along multiple cords – it only when she **_stopped_** – allowed the _time_ for it – that the **thoughts** returned to _overwhelm_ _her_ ….

One,

Two–

But, there was only so much one could do on a ship, surrounded by the constant Quiet – _nothingness_ on all sides:

Scrub the decks.

Check the bilge.

Mark the inventory.

Until she felt herself _useful_ …No matter how fleeting. Mere seconds until the emptiness began to gnaw at her, erode her value, and the frantic need to **_do_** set in again.

Keep working–

Keep _moving_ –

_Forget._

And pick up the pieces later.

One _–_

Two _–_

 **Restless**.

 _Shit_.

Everything felt too _small_ – she felt as taunt as the ropes she pulled, as if she could _snap_ at any moment. Such a frenzied energy… **Dark** and **destructive** things that lingered from her nightmares – _festered_ and _grew_. Then swallowed everything whole.

It burned in the pit of her stomach, her throat _raw_ because – _Maker_ – all she wanted to do was _scream_ …

 _Hit_ something.

 _Hurt it_.

A thing she didn't have to care about – had no connection to–

A thing she could track down and sink her blades in _deep_ –

 ** _Kill_**.

Her hands came back an angry red. _Pulsing_ – tender, still, from the other night.

She gripped the rope harder.

 _Exhaustion_.

 ** _Pain_**.

Maybe she just wanted to be **_punished_** ….

 _One_ –

 **Sudden** –

 _Electric_.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.

A breath.

The briefest glance to her right, enough to catch Isabela staring shamelessly. She could always tell when the other was near. It wasn't that the woman wasn't subtle when she needed to be – only that her proximity was as dull as a bolt of lightening.

Gaile secured her latest rope, releasing it to catch several damp strands that had escaped a hastily drawn ponytail. "Enjoying the show?"

" _Mm_ …" the pirate captain purred, strutting towards her, "Always." Brazen orbs appraised her. "I was watching your arms, your shoulders…How they tensed. _Quivered_ …" the pads of her fingers brushed the areas she spoke of, the tunic she wore leaving the skin there exposed, " _pulsed_ with exertion. Tensing…Releasing – _oh_ …" Isabela cooed, tracing thorough, intimate lines toward her collarbone, "Is this a free show? I don't recall ordering my lieutenant to do the work of a bos'n."

Gaile grinned – and it's so _easy_. "Well, it was this or solving our toast problem…"

An answering smirk. "Brand's told me you've been quite the sailor this morning, stealing men's tasks and doing them for them."

The rogue sighed. "Has Brand been complaining about my pesky work ethic again?"

"No, but he's always had a soft spot for you. The damned lot of them do." Isabela rolled her eyes. "That he thought to bring it up shows he's worried." Fingers played along her collarbone, scaling her neck, before resting at her jaw. "There's something to say about the whole brooding bit when it's on that face of yours. When you get all serious." She was silent. "There's a better way, you know. To deal with _tension_ …" their bodies met, " _Stress_ …"

"Is there?" She turned her attention back to the rope – because she just _couldn't_ say this was an apology – a **_thank you_** …Her exhale was a plume of white. "There's a nip in the air: we must be nearing Ferelden. I thought I'd make sure everything was in order. See all the lines were sound; adjust the sheets. Nothing too dramatic."

The pirate's expression grew. "Are you _trying_ to shiver me timbers? Because it's working." Gaile fought a smile. "I remember when you didn't know a granny knot from a figure-of-eight…Now look at you."

The pride in her eyes – the _adoration_ – made the gnarl in the pit of her stomach wrench harshly. "You should be with the crew."

Isabela looked off to the distance, expression sobering. "There's a storm coming."

She followed the other's gaze, brows furrowing. "It's far off yet…"

"That isn't the one I'm talking about."

 _Immediate_ – her eyes whipping back to catch amber orbs, _deliberate_ and _concerned_ ; her gaze fell to the deck.

Warm fingers glided under her chin, tapping the area there – lifting it. "Spar with me."

She avoided her eyes. "Is this a duel, Isabela?"

"It is." The pirate undid the leather holster strapped to her back, presenting two pairs of practice daggers. "You know how much I love a good duel…" the term rolled sweetly off her tongue, "You might even manage to entertain me for a time."

"Is that the duty of your lieutenant now – entertaining her captain?" Isabela smirked. "If I refuse?"

"I didn't give the option." She removed her daggers with a wink, before pressing the holster into her arms. "Don't be stubborn. It'd do you good to stop thinking – put that aggression of yours to use." Steel seeped into her tone. "I'll order you, if I have to."

Gaile stared at the daggers, mouth a harsh, thin line. "You think you want this…But you don't."

" _Ooh_ …" her lips formed an O, "Is that a _challenge_?"

"Isabela."

The pirate tsked impatiently. "When I see something I like, I go after it. You know that." A willful smirk. "You could just stand there and let me _take_ it from you." She brandished her daggers, as if already _knowing_ the outcome. "But you won't. You've too much pride for that, don't you, sweet thing?"

The rogue felt her eyes narrow, her hands _clench_ – _stupid_. **_Petty_**. But, that was the trouble of knowing the woman as well as Isabela knew her; they could both be rendered helpless by the other, each knowing just where to _push_ , exactly how to _tug_ ….

She removed the weapons, tossing the holster aside. "What do I get if I win?"

Isabela licked her lips. "I think you can guess…"

A grin. "And if I lose?"

"The same. Though _far_ more condescending…" her hips canted, "With a lot more rope involved."

Gaile twirled her daggers. "How forgiving…"

Shared smiles…Before the **_shift_** – both backing away as their bodies fell into practiced stances, daggers ready and poised. They trailed each other like animals: _advancing_ – _retreating_ ;

 _Gauging_ …

Isabela lunged, her right blade parried – left cast like the nuisance it was before Gaile made her own thrust in the opening created, the other flicking her dagger impressively to block several forceful drives, their momentum used to propel her body cleanly out of reach.

A _test_.

The rogue twirled her weapons once more.

One

Two

Three

The pirate circled her.

Gaile smirked, feet shifting to keep the woman in sight, her entire being now focused on dark, whiskey orbs. The woman was predatory, every move a calculated sway as her hips rolled into the next liquid shift.

Her fingers flexed.

 _Anticipating_ ….

Another advance.

She dodged several downward slashes of the other's blades, dropping to her knees to narrowly avoid another, vicious swipe, before sweeping her leg forward, hoping to knock the pirate off balance. Isabela tsked, leaping in the air – Gaile reclaiming her full height before her feet hit the deck, a dagger hurled toward her ribs before the woman kicked her backwards.

Amber orbs narrowed. "Don't be insulting…"

A toothy grin – because this was **_good_** – _Maker_ , it _felt_ _so_ **_good_** …And her body hadn't had a decent fight in over a _year_ , but this woman – this woman could _give_ that to her _._

 _Release_.

Excitement ripped through her veins, _electrifying_ her nerves – making every part of her _tingle_ as she took in the dark look in the other's eyes, how heavy breasts heaved and bronze skin glistened brilliantly in the sun…

And she fought not to _lose herself._ Because the **_darkness_** …

 ** _It_** …

Gaile jumped behind her, Isabela spinning sharply on her heel to block a double bladed strike before forcefully tearing her daggers away, the rogue catching her with the butt of her pommel before spinning behind her once more – a dagger thrust forward.

The woman was not there.

She suddenly felt the _sting_ of steel, heard the _rip_ of fabric, before rolling away.

Gaile held her side.

Blood roared in her ears.

 **_Yes_ ** _…_

The rogue charged – a rapid assault – blinding in its ferocity, a blur of limbs and steel as Isabela blocked each of her attacks.

Back.

Forth.

Back.

A deadly dance.

Their blades _sung_ ….

"Get her, Cap'tn!"

She heard a whistle.

"Take her, Hawke!"

Gaile gritted her teeth, not wanting the distraction – her eyes cut to Isabela's. "Tell them to go away."

A smirk. "Go away, you lot."

Their jeers became louder.

Her chest rose and fell with each breath. "Your men aren't listening."

The pirate's expression grew. "I wouldn't either. You should just see how you look right now."

She didn't need to look – could easily hear the vulgar hoots and whistles surrounding them on both sides, the bets shamelessly being made.

Her eyes narrowed.

A blade caressed her jaw. "You never minded an audience before…"

Gaile tensed, watching Isabela lick her lips, dark eyes flashing with arousal.

 _Challenge_.

It, now, a matter of **_pride_**.

She dodged the pirate's dagger – blade inches from her flesh – slamming her other weapon to the side before letting one of her own drop in trade for a handful of silk. Gaile snatched the blue sash violently, Isabela's fingers a blur as she undid the wrap and shifted her weight to the right, avoiding the sting of her blade before whipping the sash around her wrist and pulling tightly. Caught, Gaile twirled around the pirate's body, lifting her end of the sash above Isabela's head – freeing herself to lunge her dagger at the exposed skin just above her necklace…

She felt the sharpened tip of steel press into her chest, a breath away from piercing her in the heart.

Gaile closed her eyes. Grinned.

The pirate would die first, but she'd join right after.

"Draw?" A gulp of air.

"Draw." A needy breath.

They broke apart, panting heavily.

 _Staring_.

Their weapons fell.

Brand cleared his throat loudly. "All right, you lazy sea dogs – show's over! Everyone back to their posts!"

A chorus of groans. Disappointed.

 _Frustrated_.

She didn't _care_.

Gaile rushed forward, Isabela jumping to meet her, strong thighs crushing against her hips, mouths meeting with the same ferocity. Blood and teeth. And even _this_ was a duel, both fighting for dominance – needing to say it _louder_ than the other.

 _Please_.

Nails dug into her scalp.

 _More_.

She scratched her way down her back.

"Idiot." _Breathless_ …Isabela's brows downturned, a crack rarely shown. "Do you know how you usually are? Arrogant – untouchable…" her chest quaked with effort, "And then you shut everyone out and turn into someone I don't recognize."

She tensed again – the pain _shocking_ – even as she knew what the other referred to; how she'd been when Bethany died – when her mother died–

_Now._

How she kept it all to herself….

Isabela cradled her face, forcing their eyes to meet. "I hate how low your expectations are." She scoffed. "Coming from me, that must be a laugh," a pause, "but there it is." Another…Until she felt the pirate tremble. "To see you as you are now…It _hurts_ , Hawke." Her voice shook. "I can't stand it."

A lump she couldn't swallow.

Her heart _ached_.

It the first time she'd ever seen the other woman look…weak.

 _Helpless_ …

"I'm sorry." She hated how the words always sounded like less effort than they were. "I thought…if I kept you from this mess, you wouldn't be touched. I wouldn't hurt you." Her hands clenched – because doing so had done the exact _opposite,_ and – **_Maker_** , **_dammit_** – she'd _hurt_ _her_ anyway…The rogue forced herself to keep looking – stare at the pain she had caused. "Champions don't much talk about their feelings." A poor excuse for a grin. "They just save the world like everyone expects them to."

"You were never a 'champion' to me." Gaile frowned; Isabela shook her head. "That isn't a bad thing. That isn't who I wanted." The pirate parted her legs with a knee. "What do _you_ want?" She's so wet. They're so close. "What do you _need_?"

" _You_." She'll _always_ need her.

"Then _take_ me."

The air felt charged between them.

Isabela nipped her bottom lip.

A _challenge_.

Gaile stared into darkened, amber pools, feeling the **_need_** _twist_ and _churn_ – feeling no need to _restrain_ it any longer…

She seized Isabela's lips, claiming them – _claiming_ _her_ – a perfect chaos of tongues and lips – _biting_ until the pirate gasped, _pressing_ until the other shivered.

Careless, selfish touches–

A need only to **_feel_**.

Deprived thumbs dug into her hips, the rogue pushing even harder, guiding them both to the ship's railing – the long, thick ropes she worked earlier – using both for leverage as her hand snaked up a dark corset, cupping a heaving breast.

The pirate _moaned_ – before flipping their positions – _pinning_ her there – ropes biting into her skin.

She hissed. "Isabela–"

The woman worked her lips up her jaw, marking a burning trail to her ear. "Let me do this for you…"

Gaile sighed, tired of holding on – tired of _fighting_ it – the other making quick work of the ties to her pants, before shoving fitted leather down her hips.

Long fingers found their way past her smallclothes – found _her_ – and _Maker_ …

It's like _home_.

Her breath caught–

Her legs spread.

A throaty cry escaped her, Isabela gaining rhythm as a hand gripped the back of her head – tangled in chocolate tresses – to bring their faces closer, the rogue sucking on the other's tongue the moment it entered her mouth.

"Need–" her lungs demanded air, "you…" the fingers inside her _flexed_ , moving _deeper_ – fucking _harder_ – Gaile throwing her head back with a choked sob because it was _so_ _damned_ **_cathartic_** ….

Tears rolled down her cheek.

She wanted to _drown in her_.

Because she had felt so _empty_ – for days, always lacking, always **darkness** – and the other–

 _Maker_ …

Isabela was so _bright._

" _More_." She begged, pleading until incoherent.

And the pirate must have _understood_ – felt the _same_ _way_ , as she shifted impossibly _closer_ , the new angle harder for her fingers, yet refusing to back away – heated, foreign words _breathed_ into her ear.

" _Isabela_ …" her name came like a prayer, because she could barely _breathe_ , arms twining with the ropes, pain mixing with pleasure – making it so very **_real_**.

"Feel that?" The pirate's voice was sweet and dry; she _clenched_ and _trembled_. Isabela added two more fingers. " _Me_?"

A harsh shudder. " _Maker, please_ …"

 _Please_ …

And then – suddenly – there was no _choice_ –

 _No choice_.

With one final curl, she's plummeting toward light–

 _Unfolding_ …

A brilliant, dizzying _high_ …allowing only short, shallow gasps….

By the end of it, she's shaking and sobbing–

 ** _Feeling_** …

 _Her_.

After _so long_ of _nothing_.

 ** _Darkness_**.

"How did you know?" Gaile crumpled in her arms. "How do you always _know_?"

"Because you're mine." The possessive made her _weak_ ; Isabela held her close. "Because every bit of me is dedicated to you."

There were several breaths – several false starts…before she finally found the words. "I…saw how you looked at me last night. The _fear_ …" her eyes stung. "I'm…" another watery breath; her teeth clenched, "so _afraid_ of disappointing you–"

The other's mouth was on hers before she could finish, stealing everything she hadn't said. "I don't want you ever thinking that again – do you hear me?" _Sharp_. An _order_. "I meant what I said – I won't leave your side. No matter what." Gaile stared helplessly, "I know…" _pain_ weighed her features, "I know you may never believe it. Not like you should…. I'm to blame for that." Another kiss – _abrupt_ – before she could argue. "Please…" the same, _shaken_ tone, "Don't." An agonizing beat. "I haven't been the best at this," a scoff, "nowhere near…But I'm _trying_ , Hawke. I…want to _be_ that for you." Their foreheads touched, lips grazing. "Whatever you need."

"Isabela…"

A smirk. "I've thought about it, you know…How it's so _easy_ for you." Gaile's brows furrowed. "Love. I can see it: every second; every day – I _feel_ it." A thumb smoothed her cheek. "What you feel for me." Another tear wiped away. "And…I would wish – just for a moment – I could do it too." More _pain_. "Give it that openly."

The rogue searched amber – seeing the doubts _–_ seeing everything _she felt_ reflected back at her…Gaile straightened. "I feel it." Her hand lowered. " _Loved_ …" Isabela gasped; her fingers parted hot, wet folds. "I don't want you any other way."

"Dammit, Hawke…" half _hiss_ ; half _whisper_ – and she's always in awe at how easily they _undo_ each other, "This was supposed to be about you…"

" _Us_." A draw. "I want you to feel it too." Her hand worked faster. "How much you _save_ me…"

Isabela _shuddered_ , eyelids fluttering. " _Gaile_ …"

She kissed her. Soft. Tender. Placing every bit of love into it–

 _Failing_ –

Because it always _overwhelmed_ her.

This…

The pirate screamed.

 ** _Ecstasy_**.

" _Need you_." Repeated. Isabela _breathed_ against her. "Stay with me."

_Please…_


	2. Hero Business

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a great little A/N intro for this chapter too, but I'll just summarize: 
> 
> The Second COMING. 
> 
> LOL

* * *

 

Her favorite moments were when she woke before Isabela.

She'd done it countless times now – that should have made it common – she should have gotten _used_ to it…But there was a part, growing smaller by the day, that waited, just… _waited_ , for the morning the pirate would disappear.

And she would be left with ashes….

It never _came_.

The process had been slow. _Painful_. She remembered when it'd still been awkward between them, the woman near, but far away, sleeping at the edge of the bed – _turned_ – as if fighting every instinct to _leave_. And there would still be mornings she'd wake up and the other was not there, a hastily scribbled note left by her pillow informing her she was with her crew.

But now,

 _Now_ …

Isabela never left before she woke.

Gaile curbed the urge to trace the lines of her face – the arched brows, the almond eyes, the arrogant cheekbones, the ambrosial lips; the glint of gold gently bobbing beneath them – as she always did, not wanting to wake her. It the **_sweetest_** torture…because she never got _this_ when the other was awake–

The openness

The _vulnerability_

And then, her chest would _clench_ –

The Realization creeping into her heart.

Maker…

Sweet _Maker,_

This woman was **_hers_**.

Sun-kissed lids fluttered, flirting with the idea of waking.

Gaile held her breath…Torn between wanting to preserve the moment and letting it end to gain even _more_ …

Amber orbs lazily peeked through dark lashes, burning like the sun.

A flash of shock – something **_deeper_** she couldn't decipher – and then, those luscious lips tugged into a smirk.

"Have you been staring this whole time?"

The sleep heavy voice made her shiver. "Yes."

Isabela rolled her eyes, glancing away – and she could swear the other was _blushing_. "Pervert."

Gaile smiled – _beamed_ – because this was a _moment_ – one she _loved_ …where she was sure the woman came close to _realizing_ it:

How beautiful she was.

The pirate was suddenly all movement, mud and light wrapped in the dark smell of seaweed, conquering gold and navy sheets to claim a spot on top of her.

"How did you sleep?"

She felt the weight of the question, how it was so much **heavier** than it was – burdened with anxious, unspoken things…But, right now – she was _all right_ , and the **_darkness_** was at bay – and she wanted nothing more than to _keep_ it that way. "Well – though I had the craziest dream you convinced me to duel you in front of the entire crew." A pointed stare. "That _was_ a dream, wasn't it?"

Isabela's expression grew.

Gaile fell back into her pillow. "I hate being a forgone conclusion…"

"Oh, hush." The bed creaked, the pirate shifting closer until she was lost in curls. "If anything, the two of us boosted morale…" warm words caressed her lips, "No doubt we _boosted_ a few then and there."

"…Why does that turn me on?"

"Because I've _corrupted_ you…"

Isabela captured her mouth – explored her _throughly_ – a knowing tongue making her _gasp_ and _sigh_ and _squirm_ ….

Gaile seized her lower lip, holding it hostage when they broke for air…releasing it only to nibble the skin beneath her stud. " _Me encanta tu boca_ …" _rough_ – her voice harsher from the kiss, and she didn't know if she said it right–

An _ardent_ _moan_ …before the pirate backed away – eyes _dancing_. "Who taught you Antivan?"

The rogue grinned. "A few of the men. I wanted to impress you…" her fingers played against soft, bronzed skin, "And learn to ask where they kept their whiskey."

"I liked the first part." Brown spilled across her face – tumbled down her shoulders – wild and unbidden. "What else do you know?"

Her free hand slid up silken sheets, finding hers, their fingers twining – the action producing a stunning warmth, _still_. " _Te amo_ …"

A smile: rare; _beautiful_ …before the pirate pressed her into the mattress. " _Mujer_ ," she leaned in again, claiming the curve of her ear, " _si yo me llegara a morir, quien te despojaria de tus pren das, preciosa_?"

Gaile growled under her breath – having no idea what the other said, no idea what to _take_ from it – gaining only the _heat_ of the words – how they left her _helpless_ …

 ** _Yearning_**. 

Isabela _ground_ against her, marking a damp trail along the plane of her hips….

An urgent knock.

Another.

The pirate tore away, glaring at the door. " _What_?"

 _Snapped_ ; the knob turned, revealing the ship's quartermaster.

"Captain, ser." A deferent nod, the corner of his lips curling when spotting her beneath Isabela. "Lieutenant."

"Brand." Gaile grinned: the elf had seen them countless times in various states of undress – and in even more varied positions.

His expression swiftly sobered, attention, back, to his captain. "You told me to alert you when Gwaren was in sight?"

"And now I'm regretting it…" Isabela shamelessly shifted to face him, rank clear, with or without clothing. "How are the men?"

"After seeing their Captain and the Champion have it out right in front of them?" Another sly smirk. "In pretty high spirits, I'd say."

"Brand," Gaile drew lazy patterns across her lover's thigh, "what were the bets that day?"

"Six to four, your favor."

"Oh _my_ …"

Amber orbs narrowed. "I want you to tell those backstabbing, good-for-nothing, spineless sons of broodmothers who didn't bet on me, they all have double duty."

He chuckled. "Ser."

"And Brand?" The elf's brow rose. "Who did _you_ bet on?"

He cleared his throat. "So, breakfast's in thirty. Banks wanted me to pass along, he'd like Hawke's hand in the galley – when you're through holding her hostage in bed, that is."

Isabela scoffed. "How many times do I have to tell that washed up relic to stop stealing my lieutenant for non-crucial matters?" The pirate crossed her arms. "I swear, that man gets to see you more than _I_ do…"

"As if you don't enjoy the outcome." She poked her stomach, before the other swatted the finger away. "If Cook and I didn't slave over a hot oven, all of you would have diets of rum and hardtack." A hand cupped her cheek. "However would we properly plunder, then?"

The pirate sighed petulantly, but didn't pull away. "Keep her slow and steady. Much as I like a grand entry, we're to remain inconspicuous. As long as we possibly can, anyway." Brand gave a final nod, dismissing himself without another word; Isabela captured her hand, pinning it to the bed as she lowered once more. "Doing the other men's tasks, toiling in the galley–" their lips grazed; her eyes darkened, "you're a _terrible_ lieutenant."

"It isn't as if I didn't warn you." Gaile eliminated the necessary inches, losing herself in her _taste_ … Parting with a smile, "I'd go mad sitting on my ass, all day, ordering others around. I don't know how you do it." The woman hit her again and she laughed…gaze dipping. Another kiss. "It makes me feel useful…"

"You are." The immediacy – the _conviction_ – her heart _beat_ to it. "Mostly in bed. Do you know how grueling it was steering my own ship to port?" A wink. "This is _much_ easier."

The rogue grinned, burying her mouth into a warm, naked neck. "Promise me you won't kill Brand for interrupting."

Isabela sighed, it more pleasure than opposition. "I'll think on it." Gaile lifted, shooting her a look – to which the other merely rolled her eyes. "Break your eggs. Then, come find me on the main." A kiss that made her nails _dig_ into the mattress…before the pirate reluctantly unraveled their limbs. "I might spare Brand, but I'll make no promises for those other bastards." 

* * *

 

"If I begged, would that convince you to tell me when you're low on supplies?" Gaile angled the rapidly depleting sack in her hands, carefully sprinkling the last of its contents in a large, square reveal in the wood. "You're almost completely out of sand."

"That'll do fine." A gruff voice rumbled behind her. "As for begging, it'd only get you a smirk or two." The rogue shook her head, expecting as much. "Grab a few more sticks for the pit and I'll put the meat on."

She sighed, mentally recording the needed supplies before tossing the emptied sack and opening a compartment filled with logs; she grabbed several, arranging them on the circle of wood already on the sand. "Good?"

"Couldn't have done it better." With a gesture for her to step away, the man waved a hand at the logs, igniting a healthy fire under a large, suspended skillet, the smell of heated fat immediately filling the air.

Gaile smiled; there was something wonderful about being around magic again – seeing it used for everyday tasks…But, she had felt an immediate warmth toward the old mage, one that grew in their time together – no doubt because he reminded her so very much of her father. Always a grin on his face and a quip close at hand.

"So!" Cook let out a wheezing laugh, a satisfying sizzle following soon after as he placed several strips of meat. "I heard I missed quite the show…"

She rolled her eyes. "You mean your captain forcing me to fight her?"

He tossed her a knowing grin. "That, and a few other things." Gaile smirked – even as heat touched her cheeks: she hadn't cared at the time, but she should have known word of their…debauchery would reach the man's ears. "How is our skipper?"

"None too happy you stole me away." The rogue whipped a towel along her shoulder, making her way toward the galley's massive oven. "I…recently discovered I haven't been making things easy on her." She wrapped the towel around her hand. "She's been worried." A beat. "I've made her worry."

Cook snorted. "Hell, we've all been worried! Ain't that how it's supposed to be? More so with someone you care about." He turned to snatch a spatula, grease popping wildly as he flipped several strips at once. "Night before last, I spotted her wandering the ship like a ghost – wouldn't even respond to the men up at the time. Didn't even seem to register them." He shook his head. "Got to the point I had to drag her down here, myself, and make her drink some of my special tea. Put a few herbs in it to help her sleep."

Gaile frowned, a tightness _squeezing_ her chest – she had just assumed the other would go back to her quarters – not be so… _affected_. Guilt pricked her throat.

"I didn't know…"

"Aye…The skipper's a force to be reckoned with, sure – a hurricane on the sea, but she's about as placid as a puddle whenever you're involved." Another series of pops; he flipped the meat again. "A right sack of nerves."

"She'd kill you if she heard that." Her expression deepened…She opened the oven's door, a billow of heat hitting her forcefully. "I don't…" she swallowed past the lump in her throat, "think I'm mentally stable." A shaky exhale: the man was the only one she admitted the words aloud to. "I'm not." Twin brows furrowed. "I've had these sorts of scares before, times where I was too paralyzed to get out of bed, or I saw things that weren't there…" blood on her hands – her mother's _killer_ ; "but…It's getting worse. It's only getting worse…." Silence; only the sizzling meat and the crackling fire breaking it. "I don't want…" she felt the familiar pressure behind her eyes; her jaw clenched, "I wouldn't be able to bear her needing to take care of me the rest of her life."

Cook grabbed a plate, placing the finished strips of meat on it, one by one. "Too late for that, isn't it? She loves you." Gaile turned to him, the old man setting the plate on a counter. "Fact is, you're used to being the hero – zipping about rescuing everyone around you. But, there comes a time when you'll need a bit of rescuing, yourself, and you'll have to let someone take care of you." She knew his words were true – felt them make perfect sense in her head – even as a part wholly refused them. "You're still standing, kid. But there's a price." He pointed the spatula at her chest. "You keep all that in and, well…" slate eyes set on her gravely, his mouth a thin line, "Eventually, it'll catch up to you."

Her gaze fell – had she thought she could _outrun_ it? She managed it for everything else. All the _death_ ; all the **_pain_** ….

"What can I do?" It came after an unbearable pause – _desperate_ –

 _Wanting_.

"You take it slow." He set the utensil down. "You talk to her."

A laugh she couldn't help. "We're both such shit at it…"

Cook smiled. "And why not? You've spent most of your lives learning to be by yourself." The rogue released a heavy sigh; they had, hadn't they? "You'll learn. You both have the time for it."

She felt a spark from the words, a flash of light in an endless darkness…Gaile grinned, removing the tray of biscuits she'd made. "You keep serving that old age wisdom of yours, Cook, and I may have to start paying."

"There's that smart mouth." The statement was the perfect blend of aggravation and fondness; securing a towel around his own hand, he snatched the large tray from her. "Go to the surly wench." His free hand neatly plucked a steaming biscuit, placing it in her wrapped hand. "Give her this as a peace offering. No one wants to see a man my age getting the cat." 

* * *

 

"Hungry?"

She saw the start of a smile, the warm recognition only given to _her_ ; Gaile secured Isabela's waist, drawing her near – inhaling the sweet scent of her mingled with the crashing, blue waves, unable to tell either apart…. Her free hand presented the fresh biscuit.

" _Starving_." The pirate took a generous bite. "Shit…Oh, _shit_ …" she moaned before swallowing, "That's bloody _fantastic_ …."

She chuckled, watching her lover eagerly devour more: she'd added cheese and minced garlic to the batter just for her. "Someone has to defend Ferelden's honor." The pirate snorted; her brows dipped. "Should I be offended you always sound so surprised, eating my cooking?"

"Hawke," a backward glance, "you don't even like to wear dresses."

"And you don't like to wear pants – I've never held it against you. In fact, I bloody well endorse it." The rogue held the biscuit out of range, only feeding her the remaining portion when she whined in protest; Gaile smiled, the other licking her fingertips. "Leandra Amell would never stand for her eldest daughter not knowing how to prepare a proper meal…" warm, brief flashes: her and Bethany attempting a complicated, new recipe; Carver stealing their ingredients for his own amusement – the sharp, familiar **_pain_** that always followed. Isabela leaned into her; she closed her eyes. "So. Remind me again why we're doing this."

"We're…" the mischief was palpable, " _helping_."

"And here I thought we weren't in the 'helping' business anymore. Actually, I'm almost certain that was one of your conditions before I boarded this ship." She wagged her finger theatrically, mimicking the other's tone. "'No crumbs in the bed, dammit' and 'none of that saving the world nonsense'."

"I never said _I_ couldn't do it – and this is different. It's _business_." Isabela turned, the rogue now allowed the smirk she already knew was there. "I even managed roping Varric along."

"…Was he drunk?"

"Details…" Gaile grinned, "Besides, it's a _king_. The reward will be a _fortune_ …."

"What?" A hand fell on her hip. "My fortune isn't good enough for you anymore?"

The pirate's expression grew. "A woman has her needs."

She tsked. "You just miss Varric's chest hair."

"And you don't?"

"Oh, I _do_ …Or did you think I tied that fur over your chest and made you call me 'Bianca' for some other reason?" Isabela laughed and she reveled in the sound. "I can't wait to see him: even under the circumstances. I haven't been able to keep in touch with any of the others." Varric had been the one exception, the only one she could get correspondence out to with his wide net of contacts – and even that was risky given her actions; the rogue sighed. "Probably for the best. I don't want to drag any of them into any more trouble."

The other's brows furrowed. "So, it's all right for you to drag _me_ into it?"

"Says the pirate helping a king."

"With _pay_."

"I pay you in sex."

"Ooh. Got me there."

A smile…her gaze falling to the sea, the distant strip of land kissing the horizon. "Still…"

Isabela draped her arms around her neck, moving in to kiss her sweetly. "I know."

She felt the weight against her chest, the constant tug of her _regrets_ …before biting her lip; meeting Isabela's sunset eyes. "This is where it all began…" her voice broke against her will; she swallowed roughly – tried again. "This is where we boarded the ship to Kirkwall after fleeing the Blight."

"Wishing you hadn't?"

Her smile grew bittersweet – the other sounded so _sure_. "I wouldn't have met you."

Shock flew across the pirate's features – erupting like a storm; her brows dipped harshly. "I hate it when you say things like that. Reckless, stupid things I can never live up to." Isabela held her gaze – glared at her. "That isn't a choice a person should make."

"I've made worse." _Fact_. Silence stretched between them…With the other woman, there were times she could no longer use words – times she could only push _so_ _far_ , before she would have to retreat – and they would agree to disagree. Gaile pulled her close, digging a cheek into the curve of her neck. "You're warm…" the contrast between her lover's body and the wind's chill made her shiver – another coveted sensation, "I love holding you in my arms…."

"Mm…" just a sound, the subtle jump of her pulse – and she hadn't _expected_ more. The pirate shifted, full lips caressing her ear. "Hawke…"

"Hm?"

"This job is important to me. On a ship, it's the captain's responsibility to pay her crew." A beat. "The selfless fool that you are, I know you wouldn't mind it…but I don't want your coin lining their pockets. That isn't how this works."

Gaile smiled against her skin – the words more than pride: they were _equilibrium_. She possessed more than enough coin to support her lover and the men beneath her three times over, but as a captain – as her _equal_ – she required financial independence.

"Understood, Captain." The rogue gently pulled away, nodding her assent when their eyes met – and it was the _tug_ of her smirk, the _twinkle_ in her eyes, that made her rush to claim her lips. "Oh, _darling_ …" a winsome grin, "Let's be _adventurers_."


	3. Doubt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting closer to comic territory with this one – whether that’s good or not, is up for debate. Honestly, I thought the comics were average: riddled with inaccuracies, but oh-so full of potential. Regardless, I’ve seen far too many word-for-word narratives out there and I’ve no desire to add another. Twists and turns, children. Twists and turns. 
> 
> On a different note (buh dum tss), there are ‘Ferelden’ songs in this chap that I based on two real songs: 
> 
> \- Mount Wroclai (Idle Days) by Beirut  
> \- Pastelka On The Train by A Hawk And A Hacksaw
> 
> Oh. And that meeting the Champion and King Alistair had in the game? A myth. Never happened. Play through.

 

* * *

  _The best lack all conviction, while the worst_

  _Are full of passionate intensity._

* * *

 

“Easy now…”

Gaile exhaled, feeling Isabela’s hands envelop her own as she stiffly manned the helm. “This is _terrifying_ …” a beat, “And _exciting_.” She swallowed thickly. “Ask me later which won out.”

A warm chuckle at her ear. “You’re doing fine.” The pirate shrugged. “For a virgin.”

“Well, I did manage getting her parallel and downwind — all without plummeting us to a cold, watery grave.” Another breath. “It’s a _good_ day.”

She felt Isabela’s lips curve against her cheek. “ _Relax_ …” a sweet murmur; the pirate pressed into tense muscle, “A light touch, and she’s yours.” The wheel creaked softly. “Headley — give us some slack!”

“Ser!” Immediate; the man alternated between releasing the tension in several ropes, and drawing harshly on several others.

Isabela nodded as the vessel slowed, the ocean idly slapping its hull. “All right, sweet thing: we’re going to pull a half turn to get back in the wind’s favor.” A calloused thumb grazed her knuckles. “But, first, we…” 

“…Drop the sails?” The pirate kissed her and Gaile grinned. “So, these tests _are_ worth the sleepless nights and overall anxiety.” A deliberate shift, her body leaning into the supple form behind her; she sighed. “Heavy risk…but the _prize_ ….”

Her lover laughed, nipping her ear. “Imagine my response after you dock my ship…” the rogue shivered, **that** voice _vibrating_ right _through_ her. “Want to give the order?” 

A backward glance. “Captain…”

The other merely nodded, amber orbs bright enough to thaw the morning chill.

Her heart skipped.

She breathed in. 

“ _Drop sails_!”

Several, strong ‘aye’s — and Gaile could only watch in _awe_ … 

The _ripple_ —

The **effect** _._  

 _Electric_ — no _hesitation_ , each man executing their assigned task by word, alone….

Just like with their captain.

She felt her throat tighten, the odd tickle of emotion…It wasn’t the order. Or that she had been the one to give it: 

The crew…Her **_family_** — _respected_ her enough to follow through. 

Gaile mouthed silent, grateful words…clearing her throat, before turning to Isabela. “Good?”

The pirate’s eyes fluttered. “…I think I just came.”

She snorted — pride; embarrassment; **_love_**. “Well. If that’s all it takes…”

Another honeyed chuckle. “I just see why you get so hot and bothered watching me order the men around, now.” Gaile felt something **shift** , the subtle change to _genuine_ that always occurred between them as Isabela drew closer. “You’re only second to me…” a lingering kiss, “don’t ever forget that.” 

Her throat tightened again, her chest echoing the action— 

The woman always **_knew_**. 

Gaile nodded, not trusting her voice — because the _light_ filling her — _bathing_ _her_ on the _inside_ — would surely break it…Another breath. She faced the helm. 

Isabela squeezed her against the sturdy wood, turning the wheel — _guiding_ her — with a firm, steady hand. “Feel that resistance?” Another nod. “You don’t want to fight against it. It’s pointless to, really.” The pirate began to turn the wheel in the opposite direction. “The sea’s a stubborn wench — you have to make her think it was her idea to get you where you’re going.”

“Convincing a stubborn wench to do what she normally wouldn’t…” Gaile smirked, “No experience there….”

Though she couldn’t see her face, she had no doubt her lover rolled her eyes. “And, if you’re half as naggy with her as you are with me—”

“She’ll fall just the same?” A tsk. “I do attract the _worst_ sorts.” Isabela pinched her and she chuckled, hands stilling when the vessel completed its half turn. “Should I even inquire as to how we’ll maneuver this very large ship into that very,” she eyed it again, “ _very_ finite space?” 

“We let the wind take her.” The pirate loosed her hold on the helm, smoothly capturing a hand in her own as she led her away. “Come on.”

Gaile’s brows furrowed, even as she assented, expecting some sort of random happenstance to take place…Like the crew holding hands and singing the Chant of Light with a few ‘Oh, merciful Maker’s thrown in for good measure, before they were magically whisked into place.

“You should see your face right now…” Isabela teased, amber orbs dancing as they reached the ship’s railing; she pointed to the hull. “Look.” 

She acquiesced again, not noticing anything particularly out of the ordinary…until her eyes gradually registered that the ship was _moving_ — not merely bobbing with the tide — the wind slowly — _surely_ — easing the vessel into dock.

“Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit…” Isabela laughed; Gaile shook her head, “That’s… _Shit_.” Her hands gripped the edge tightly as she leaned forward to get a better view, the wind tossing her hair. “I don’t know how I thought this was done all the other times — I suppose it didn't matter. But this…” she met the other’s gaze, “ _Wow_.”

The pirate turned to lean against the railing, crossing her arms with a smile. “Exactly.”

She mirrored the expression, looking back to the endless, blue ocean…Loving how the other never grew tired of its savage beauty. Understanding _why_ a bit better now: 

It so much _more_ than a string of tasks, _more_ than reaching a destination…It was a partnership. A collaboration between wind and sea gained only by deeply-rooted respect. 

Ample breasts pressed into her back, two perfectly toned arms securing themselves on either side of her. “Lieutenant,” _breathed_ , “I’m under the impression you docked your first ship…”

 **Heavy**. _Heated_.

Gaile grinned.

“Barring the fact, you, quite literally, held my hand the entire way: _yes_ ,” a deliberate spin, “I _steered_ your ship, then _docked_ her.” Isabela’s lips parted; she eliminated what space remained. “Captain?” Whiskey orbs darkened in response. “Surely, I’m due a reward…” her finger twirled a chocolate strand. “Perhaps my very own bandanna?”

The pirate smirked, taking possession of her hands, again, to reposition them far lower. “How about a handful of booty, instead?”

“Mm… _booty_.” She squeezed the firm globes of flesh until the other cooed. “And a kiss?” 

A careless nod, the effort clearly a distraction. “I’ll even let you choose where I plant it…”

Her expression grew, recalling the very same words from long ago, before leaning in, capturing lips she’d never tire of — denying Isabela the opportunity to dictate pace — slowing when she became too _insistent_ …Until the pirate groaned, panting against her.

Gaile laughed, breaking away. “ _Really_ , Isabela? You honestly thought I’d let you take me in front of the crew, a second time?” She clucked her tongue. “I have standards, woman.”

Frustrated fingers dug into her chest, clutching the fabric there. “You’re a damned tease…”

“No.” A smirk. “I follow orders.” She cradled the small of her back, “A light touch…” her free hand grazed skin, “and she’s _yours_.”

A throat cleared behind them. “You know, it’s somewhat comforting still walking in on the two of you like this…” 

Gaile froze. Smooth. _Unmistakable_. She turned, seeing Brand lead two cloaked men toward them.

The shorter of the pair drew back his hood with a wink.

A hand fell to her chest; she exhaled brokenly. “…Varric.”

“Chuckles,” his signature grin, “what’s new?”

A sound caught between a sob and a laugh. 

She rushed forward.

Brand smiled knowingly, stepping off to the side, while the other cloaked man made his way to the ship’s captain.

“Not to ruin the mood…” he eyed the unfolding scene, “But, is there a reason they’re running so slowly?” 

Isabela smirked. “Dramatic effect.” 

Gaile sighed, dropping to her knees to wrap the dwarf in her arms. “Varric…” _whispered_ ; she hugged him fiercely, “Come to your senses and finally tracked me down to bestow your _relentless_ brand of chest hair love?”

He chuckled. “Now, Hawke — you know how jealous Bianca gets. Even if she did miss you.”

“Oh, _Bianca_ …” her fingers trailed its wooden stock, “Jealous _and_ sentimental?” 

“A crossbow’s work is never done.”

The cloaked man removed his hood, revealing a head of neat, strawberry blonde hair. “Wait — _Hawke_?” He did a double take. “As in… _Champion of Kirkwall_?” Isabela shrugged, expression stretching further; he shook his head. “That’s…”

“Yup.” Varric nodded.

“But she’s supposed to be—”

“Uh-huh.”

“And _this_ is—” he gestured to the ship.

The dwarf raised his hands. “I know, I know.”

Alistair sputtered, looking between Varric and Isabela. “Just…Explanation, please?”

The dwarf sighed. “It’s…kind of a long story. Short version: Kirkwall’s illustrious hero took a liking to our infamous pirate queen and, after much blood and angst, decided to join her crew permanently…while being on the run from the Chantry, templars, and responsibility, in general.” The other’s mouth opened…Closed. “Believe me, I wanted to tell you, O King, but Isabela here swore me to secrecy until we all met up.”

“Well, half of Thedas _is_ looking for her…” the pirate patted his shoulder, “You understand.”

“Only half?” Gaile tsked. “Must be getting soft in my old age.” Her hands set a path for Varric’s chest — only to embrace metal. “What—” she clawed against hard, cold ridges, “what is this _evil_?”

“Hawke. It’s a chest plate.” 

“Take it off _immediately_.”

Alistair opened his mouth, only to shut it once more.

Varric grinned. “What’s this? The King of Ferelden, starstruck?” He escaped her grasp and Gaile whined. “Go on — introduce yourself. She won’t bite…” a pause, “Well. Mostly.”

“I’ve switched to an ‘on request’, policy.” She reclaimed her full height, tossing a smile in Alistair’s direction. “My king.”

He cleared his throat. “Yes, well — I often forget that part, myself.” He extended a hand. “Alistair Theirin. Ex-templar, former Warden, and purveyor of fine cheeses.” 

“And I used to be the Champion of Kirkwall, but took an arrow to the knee.” She winked, accepting his offered hand, “Abigaile Hawke — though, I much prefer Gaile. Or ‘Hawke’. That tends to be the favorite and what you’ll likely hear ninety nine percent of the time, varying from glowing admiration to unspeakable rage.”

He chuckled. “Here I was afraid I’d be the only damning secret aboard this ship.”

“Well, I’m no king of an entire nation, but…” a grin, “I get around.”

Brand shook his head, approaching Isabela. “We’re ready to shove off on your word, Captain.”

“Good—” a decisive nod, “no need to stand around with our hands down our trousers: we fly-by-night on the Amaranthine. Tell the crew I want us to Antiva City at a rate of knots.”

“ _Oh_ …” Gaile swooned, a hand pressed to her forehead,  “now say, ‘ _arg_ ’.” 

The pirate’s lips curled. “Have Mateo show our guests to their room — oh, and Brand?” The elf looked back expectantly. “Remind them all of the coin to be had now that our golden goose has landed.”

Alistair pointed to himself. “She’s…talking about me, right?”

Brand flashed a toothy grin. “Arg.”

 

* * *

 

“I shit you not — that night, everyone in the Hanged Man — Norah _included_ — stood up, raised their glasses, and sang ‘O Kirkwall, Brave and True’.” 

Isabela shook with laughter, releasing a frothy mug to the wooden counter of the bar, to wipe away tears. “ _Oh_ …I bet my Big Girl just _loved_ that.”

Gaile held her stomach, drink long abandoned. “H-how,” a breath, “how’d she react?”

Varric stole a quick draw of beer, before continuing. “She looked left; right — then claimed she’d arrest every one of them if she didn’t have a drink in her hand within the next five seconds. Apparently, their ‘drunken blather’ was a threat to the city’s well-being…That is,” he smirked, “until she joined in.”

Isabela gasped. “She _didn’t_!”

The dwarf raised his hand. “Maker’s truth. Poor Donnic had to drag her out when they got to the songs about the Champion.”

She and Isabela exchanged skeptical looks…before bursting into a fit of giggles.

Aveline— 

 _Singing_. 

About **_her_**.

True or exaggerated, it was just too _fantastic_ a mental image to pass up.

Gaile smiled, recovering as she watched her lover clink her glass to his. “Oh, Varric…I _missed_ our dynamic, so.”

He grinned behind his mug. “What? The Rivaini’s not enough for you?”

“That’s ‘ _Captain_ ’ Rivaini.”

Varric waved a hand in apology.

“It just isn't the same.” She frowned. “We tried doing banter with her on her knees, but that just led to…other things…” the dwarf chuckled, “But, that isn’t the point. The point is you. Never leaving my side. _Ever_.”

He sighed. “Spend almost a decade with a human and they get terribly clingy…” Gaile smirked, “And, _Captain_ Rivaini,” Varric whistled; Isabela bowed. “Still running a tight ship, I see.”

“You have to, with these louts.” The pirate downed what alcohol remained. “I mean, they’ve already seen me with my ass in the air….”

“Knowing you, it was entirely by choice.”

“Eh.” A shrug. “It was complicated.”

Varric glanced at her. 

“Let’s not.” A shot of whiskey; she poured another.

He chuckled, nudging Isabela with his shoulder. “And still with Hawke! Will wonders never cease?”

“Yes, well,” the pirate topped off her drink, “she’s entirely insidious that way. Like a bad rash.”

Gaile let her empty shot glass clatter against the counter. “You really should have been a poet….”

The dwarf grinned, shaking his head. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have my doubts…But, there’s something about the two of you now…” Varric looked her way again, a knowing gleam in his eye, “I guess the Champion tamed her pirate queen, after all — well,” a cough that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle, “so long as no priceless, Qunari relics get involved.”

“Varric — I’m hurt.” Isabela laid a hand over her heart. “I already have the King of Ferelden on my ship. That should keep me occupied for a few days, at _least_.”

He laughed, saluting her with his drink before indulging once more. “Actually…” the mug fell from his lips, “I have a game for the both of you.” 

“…The one where I strip you of that damned chest plate, and Isabela ties you up and spanks you?”

“ _Ooh_ …”

The dwarf raised a hand. “Now, now, ladies: this is serious. Call it…research for a new novel of mine.”

Gaile groaned. “Another one, Varric?” 

“What? The two of you are household names — you had to have known there would be a sequel.”

“Maker…” she slumped into her chair, “People will read anything these days.”

Isabela slammed her mug against the bar. “I suppose I do still owe you for coming along on this grand adventure of ours — and, I’ve always liked the idea of own, dirty serial…” she smirked, trailing a hand against his chest plate. “Tell you what: swear to never wear armor on my ship, again, and I’ll play your game.”

“ _Yes_.” Gaile nodded, “Varric?”  

He chuckled. “An artist isn’t an artist if he isn’t suffering…I’m also inclined to agree before ‘armor’ becomes ‘clothes’.” The pirate’s smirk grew. “So, you’ve got yourself a deal. Now,” his fingers stroked a bristly jaw, “what, about the other, do you dislike most?”

Isabela scoffed. “That’s easy: she’s arrogant.” 

Her brows furrowed. “And you never talk about your feelings.”

Varric tsked, raising his hand again. “What, about the other, do you most admire?”

Gaile eyed the myriad, colored bottles on display behind the bar…before finding Isabela’s gaze. “Her devotion. To herself. To sailing…to,” s _hit_ ; her voice stumbled, “me.” Heat conquered her cheeks — Maker, she was actually _embarrassed_. “I…It’s so deep.” A pause. “She gives me everything.”

Isabela stared at her, amber orbs shivering as she swallowed thickly. 

She didn’t look away. It, a _painful_ sort of intimacy — warm — _precarious_ — just in that moment.

Just for _them_.

Varric cleared his throat, giving them a few seconds more, before, “You, Rivaini?”

The pirate’s eyes dropped to the counter. She took a drink.

 _Silence_.

Gaile frowned — smiled. “You could always say my bedside manner.”

Isabela didn’t respond. 

 _Silence_.

Varric looked at them both, his brow raising. “Uh…Rivaini?” 

Her grip on her mug tightened. “I…” the pirate shifted: _tense_ ; uncomfortable, “Well, she’s a lot of things. I just…” twin brows furrowed defensively, “can’t think of anything at the moment.” She sighed, releasing the glass and standing to her feet. “This is silly and I’m thirsty.” She would not _look_ at her. “I’m going to get more ale.” 

Gaile watched her leave. Varric lowered his mug. 

“Hawke…” _contrite_.

She glanced at him. Smiled. Looked back at her glass.

What could she _say_? 

That, mere nights ago, she’d broken down and the other had finally  _seen_ it? That she couldn’t blame Isabela for having doubts when she honestly didn’t know, herself? 

And, what if… _this_ couldn’t be **fixed**.

What if _,_

 _What if_ —

After all the years — all she’d managed to _get through_ …

She was finally **_broken_**?

“So, I thought of something.” Gaile looked up: Isabela stood at the entrance, a bottle in each hand and her eyes trained on Varric. “She’s…constant. Dependable. I know she’ll stick by me no matter what.” A beat…She set the bottles on the counter. “I’ve…never had that. A person to never let me down.” Their eyes met; Isabela smiled. “She never lets me down.”

She felt her lips mirror the expression — because her lover was smiling so _triumphantly_ :

As if glad to have finally _found_ it.

Varric smirked, sliding from his chair.

“And just where do you think you’re going?” Isabela planted both hands on her hips. “I just brought more ale!”

The dwarf straightened his jacket. “A gentlemen always knows when to take his leave.”

Gaile grinned, watching him head up the short set of stairs with a wave of his hand, before returning her gaze. 

The pirate shot her an annoyed glance. “What?”

“You know what.” She pressed away from the bar.

A scoff. “Well, it’s true, isn’t it?”

Her expression grew; she kissed her, slow and sweet.

Isabela pressed closer, snaking a hand to the back of her head — _keeping_ her there…until she was the one to part, eyes searching. “You were worried?” Gaile frowned; the other nodded for her. “You were, weren’t you?” She sighed against her lips. “Right before I came in, there was that horrid look of yours. The one I can’t stand.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does. To me.” A breath. “I’m sorry I couldn’t come up with an answer sooner. You know how I am with…those sorts of feelings…” _pained_ — a wrinkle marred her brow, “But, I knew I had to say something. With what happened…” hesitation, and Gaile knew it was just as fresh in her mind, “It…had to have meaning.” She bit her lip. “It needed to be from me.” Her heart shuddered; the other’s gaze fell. “After your answer…”

A hand lifted her chin. “I meant it.” 

Isabela nodded, expression fragile. “You almost made me cry in front of Varric, you bastard.”

Gaile chuckled softly. “Can you imagine the stories he’d pen if you did?” Her hand raised dramatically. “‘Helpless, the pirate queen fell into her Champion’s waiting arms, a lone tear cascading down a dusky cheek’…” a smirk, “Actually, I rather like that. Maybe you should be swooning?” Isabela smacked her; she chuckled again, closing her eyes — leaning forward — until their foreheads touched. “ _I was so happy_ …” an earnest whisper, “ _You came back_.”

A moment. The other responding with a look that made her throat dry — her breath _catch_ …Isabela seized her lips, slipped her tongue into her mouth — _moaned_ …And she _felt_ it, _melted_ against her — her **_passion_** — the pirate’s hands roaming her sides, before settling at the flare of her hips.

Whiskey orbs burned; she kissed the skin below her ear. “…I should check on the crew.”

Gaile shivered, faintly registering the other had backed her against a wall. “Now who’s the tease?”

“You had your chance.” The pirate smirked. “Check on his royal highness, for me. See how he’s taking to ship.”

“You don’t think he’d rather speak to the captain?”

“I get the feeling he doesn’t fully trust me or Varric — which, honestly, means he’s smarter than he looks.” A finger trailed her lips. “But, he likes you. Why not talk about Ferelden and bond over the smell of dog shit?”

A grin. “So, I’m to loosen him up, then?”

Isabela kissed her, expression growing. “You were always eye candy, sweet thing. Now, you just know it.” 

 

* * *

  

“Homesick, already?”

Gaile watched the king turn, a perfect mixture of shock and unease, his checks flushed from the cold. “Champion! Er…” he rubbed a ruddy nose, “Hawke — Gaile?” Alistair winced, “ _Way_ too informal: definitely stick with Hawke.” He shook his head. “Uh…Sorry about that.” 

She chuckled, joining him at the edge of the ship. “Are you this delightfully flustered with _all_ the champions?”

“Seeing as you’re the only one I’ve actually met,” a crooked smile, “yes?”

“Then, you flatter me, my king.” He grew a bit more red and she smiled, lifting a hand toward the ocean. “It feels like an eternity since I last saw snow.” Several delicate flakes landed on her palm. “But, to see it while at sea…” awe left her lips as a plume of white, “ _Breathtaking_ ….”

He raised a gloved hand out as well. “Do you miss Ferelden?”

“At times.” A sigh. “That’s how nostalgia is, isn’t it? Constantly sneaking up on you — always when you least expect it.” Another smile, fainter than the last. “I did manage a visit earlier in the year, after healing up from the war in Kirkwall. I wanted to give my brother a proper funeral.”

“He died during the Blight?” She nodded; regret lined his features. “I’m so sorry.”

“You shouldn’t be — you helped stop it. So many more could have experienced that pain…That, or the Blight would have killed us all.” Gaile retracted her hand, turning to him with an easy grin. “You’re a hero, dear king. Soon, I’ll even work up the nerve to ask you to sign my armor.”

Alistair chuckled. “Only if I get your signature, in return. I’ve seen, firsthand, how deadly Qunari are in a fight: a city full of them and I would have browned my trousers.” He rested leather padded arms against the rail. “But, I suppose that sort of thing runs in both our families.” A beat. “The hero bit — not the, ah, part with the trousers.”

“So, you know about that…” Gaile nodded, amused, “My dear, second cousin and I will have to meet, someday, and swap stories. Perhaps, determine, once and for all, which of us had the harder time getting the girl?” She smirked to herself. “You must hear this constantly, but…what was he like?”

“Aridias Amell…” a grin, “Clever — brutally honest…mostly kept to himself, in the beginning. Never thought himself much of a leader, but there wasn’t a person in our merry band of misfits who wouldn’t stand by him.” His expression grew. “Actually, now that I’ve met you, I can’t say I’m surprised you’re related. He had _quite_ the tongue on him.”

She laughed. “I suppose that’s what that witch of his liked best.”

The man visibly shivered. “ _Morrigan_ …”

Her brow rose: it was clear _she_ was not up for discussion. “Do you know where he is?” 

“No.” Another dark expression. “He led as Warden Commander for six months, as a favor to me. Then, the very day after, he left. Just…disappeared.” Alistair stared at the dark, rolling waves. “At my coronation, he warned me he wouldn’t give up his search…I’d hoped time with the Wardens would help him move on.” 

A sideways glance. “‘Search’?” 

Their eyes met. “Morrigan.”

A beat…She smiled sadly at the wood beneath her fingertips. “I can understand that.”

The look on the king’s face told, clearly, he could not. “Does it ever eat you up inside — your decision?” A **shift** ; his grip on the rail tightened. “Was there a moment you _wanted_ to go back? Wanted to be Champion again?” He turned, facing her. “From what I heard, you were fairly good at it.”

“I’m sure I had my moments…But, it was a title. One people wanted to believe in.” She shrugged listlessly. “Sadly, I was never convinced — I’m not that good a person. I’m certainly no hero.” A scoff. “I’d trade that whole damned city if it got me my family back.” 

Brown orbs narrowed. “…You don’t mean that.”

Gaile stared at him…Smiled. “I wonder…” she closed her eyes, breathing in the sharp, night air that burned her lungs; exhaling, “To answer your question…yes. I made a choice, helped create an even bigger mess and then ran away. But, spend seven years trying to _fix_ things, and you find out they break, with or without you.” A pause…Her nails ran against the grain. “Two can be complete without the rest of the world.” Her eyes opened. “It could only be a matter of time, but…whatever life I have left, is with her.” 

“So…you and Isabela…” he faltered, “Uh…You’re…” 

“Together?” A glance and she saw he was blushing. “It’s no secret — in fact,” she smirked, “you should be glad I’m the one telling you; if Isabela had her way, you’d no doubt be seeing how ‘together’ we really are.”

“That, ah…definitely sounds like something she’d do. To be perfectly honest, I’m a bit surprised she hasn’t tried to disrobe me, yet. I guess we’ve all changed.” He smiled a little to himself, before it fell away completely. “I was never meant to be king. I still have a hard time convincing myself I’m any good at it…” the man shook his head, “Life has a funny way of putting us in situations we never wanted — or even thought possible.”

“Is that what you were thinking, staring so intently at the sea?” He looked a bit shocked; she waved it off. “I’ve had my share of dark thoughts, Alistair. It’s a look I’ve come to recognize.”

A slow nod. “I’m,” the shadows returned to his eyes, “looking for something.” 

A faint smile. “Aren’t we all?”

“Except, this ‘something’ was supposed to be ancient history — a ‘something’ that shouldn’t even _exist_.” His brows furrowed, the king’s lips setting into a deep frown that told her he was holding back. “I need answers. A…source, told me Isabela and Varric could help find them.” A pause: he regarded her candidly. “And, circumstances being what they are, I hope, you as well, Champion.”

“Oh, why not? I could always do with a king’s favor…” she tossed a grin his way. “But, Maker, it doesn’t _always_ have to be doom and gloom, does it?” Gaile caught his hand, pulling him away from the edge of the ship. “Allow me the opportunity to distract you….” She placed a finger to his lips before he could respond, grinning when she spotted two of the crew about to walk past them. “Davies! Fredric — just the men I was looking for!”

The pair immediately stopped, the latter turning with raised brows.

“…Ser?” Fredric’s eyes fell on Alistair, taking him in with a growing sense of astonishment, “Er…Something you need?”

She sighed dramatically. “The king and I find ourselves _terribly_ homesick…What do you say to performing a few songs from our homeland?” A smile. “Between the two of you, you must know plenty.”

Davies nodded. “A few, sure — though, the Captain gets to complaining if we go and play ‘em.”

Gaile tsked. “I’ll deal with the Captain: both of you find some instruments and meet us back here.”

They exchanged looks, equal parts curious and entertained, before nodding and hurrying off in the direction of their quarters.

“Uh…” Alistair stared at her, dumbfounded, “what just happened?”

She chuckled, pinching his cheeks. “You and I are going to celebrate our newfound partnership like proper Fereldans — I just need to look the part.” She released her hold to unhook the golden clasp of his cloak. “This should do nicely.” He gaped at her again while she tied the brown fabric around her waist, securing a knot at her hip. “So?” A demure twirl. “How do I look?”

He gave a bashful grin. “Good enough to make me think I’ve been wearing that wrong this entire time.”

She laughed. “Flattery will get you _everywhere_ …” 

“Lieutenant!” Gaile turned to see three men approaching, Fredric leading with an accomplished smirk and an accordion in hand. “Hope you don’t mind — we brought Crowe along since he had some horns.”

Crowe gave her a nod; she eyed the trumpet clutched beneath his arm, the larger tuba held in his hands, and smiled. “The more the merrier.”

Davies adjusted the straps to his drum. “Ear for anything in particular?”

“Something we can dance to.” A few, playful raps. “And I wouldn’t mind hearing that voice of yours…”

He grinned smugly; the other two hooted.

Gaile smirked, securing Alistair’s hand once more to position him just so, until they faced each other.

The king shook his head, pinching himself. “Me. About to dance with the Champion of Kirkwall…” he lowered his hand with a sigh, “No one will ever believe me back at the palace.” 

“Well — that _is_ the idea.”

Several tentative notes…before the rich, lilting sound of Fredric’s accordion filled the air.

Alistair straightened. “My lady.” He bowed. 

“My king.” She dipped in response, gathering the ends of her makeshift skirt.

Davies’ tenor soared above the music. “ _And I know when time will pass by slow_ …”

A smile. She _knew_ this song — remembered her mother and father dancing before a roaring fire…Warmth and laughter — the nostalgia hitting her in _waves_ …

“ _Without my heart, what can I do_ …”

Gaile swayed, swinging the cloth in her hands to the haunting tone.

Alistair stomped in time, alternatively bringing a fist to his chest.

Left. Right. Left. Right.

To. Fro. To. Fro.

Fredric added his voice to Davies’ as they faded into the chorus, Crowe’s horn wailing right along with them.

Alistair lifted a hand and she met it instinctively, their fingers aligning as they both began to turn:

Singing, 

Smiling— 

Only, to switch hands and circle in the other direction.

Another string of verses, and they broke apart, resuming their earlier gestures. 

To. Fro. To. Fro.

Left. Right. Left. Right.

Until Davies tapped the metal rim of his drum:

Tck

Tck

Tck—

The chorus erupting again as strong, steady strikes seized the beat with a rolling repetition.

Their hands met, bodies revolving once more. 

Turn - turn - turn - turn

Switch—

Turn - turn - turn - turn

Switch—

One

Two

One, two, three 

Switch—

Turn - turn - turn - turn

Switch—

Alistair released her before the last set, clapping in twos with the errant pulse of Davies’ drum — and Gaile spun on her own, flicking the loose fabric draping her legs with the heated _insistence_ of the trumpet:

The guiding _thump_ of the drum.

The lazy _sway_ of the accordion…

The king continued to clap as the chorus begun anew, circling her with purposeful strides, while she remained in the middle, whipping her skirt in wide, dazzling arcs…. 

Until, the voices began to fade — the horn’s mournful cry disappearing…and only the dying raps of wood against metal remained.

Tck

Tck

Tck—

Tck, tck, tck, tck….

A curtsy. 

A bow. 

Their band exploded into cheers; they smiled at each other.

“That was almost sickening…” a voice behind; Gaile turned, seeing Isabela strut forward with a look as if they’d committed murder,  “All that stomping and twirling,” she snorted, “and you barely even touched each other!”

“Captain Isabela, ser!” Fredric lowered his instrument, the other men quickly doing the same.

Gaile raised a hand, giving them pause. “You know, Isabela…” she gave Alistair a reassuring pat, before making her approach, “I’m starting to think you honestly don’t appreciate my heritage. Our ‘stomping’ and ‘twirling’ does have its charms.” The pirate looked throughly amused. “Unless…” she loosed the knot at her waist, the cloak falling to the deck, “you need convincing?”

Her lover’s eyes flashed darkly. “And how will you do that?”

She stretched a hand out in her direction. 

Isabela raised a brow, eying the offering…Smirking, before taking it.

“Something slow…” directed to the men; she did not break their gaze. 

Gaile heard them whisper amongst themselves…before catching the familiar jostle of instruments being readied to play.

The soft sound of Fredric’s accordion seemed to trickle toward their ears, a single, shivering note, accompanied by the low rumble of Crowe’s tuba and the’ steady ‘bum bum’ of Davies’ drum.

Isabela’s lips formed an O, slender brow jumping a second time as Gaile’s free hand cradled her waist, turning her at a slight angle until their hips almost brushed. 

The pirate sighed. “Fereldans and their damned modesty…”

She grinned, wordlessly placing the hand she still held, on her shoulder, before cocking an arm on her own hip.

Their eyes caught.

The accordion flared.

Gaile began without warning, shifting sharply from side to side as she led the other in a deliberate circle.

The pirate merely smirked, smoothly mimicking her actions: 

A step forward and the pirate gracefully retreated, 

A turn, and the other dipped into it smoothly.

…Until, the beat swelled and shifted, Gaile stepping back, creating enough space between them to catch her hand again and slowly twirl the other woman around her body.

Isabela laughed — a rich, _delighted_ thing — booted feet tapping against the deck as her hips _swayed_ , free hand writhing with the pace of the livelier tempo….

Another shift, and Gaile drew her back in, resuming their deliberate waltz…the pirate pressing closer than what she allowed before, forcing their bodies to graze.

“I’ve been thinking…”

“You really should leave that to me…”

She felt the other's smirk. “How about inviting him to our bed?” 

Her eyes closed to “ _our_ ”. “You know as well as I that Varric will never betray Bianca.”

“I meant Alistair, you goose.” Lips brushed her ear. “I’ve heard such lovely rumors of Grey Warden stamina…I’ve been _dying_ to give it a try.” 

Another turn. “Hm…”

The pirate shifted. “No?”

Gaile grinned. “I’m not against it. I just don’t think it would be fair to Alistair.” 

“Oh?” Turn. “Why’s that?” 

She twirled Isabela again, halting her mid-spin to press firmly into her from behind. “I wouldn’t _share_ you.”

“…Lieutenant.”

A shiver wreaked havoc against her spine. “Captain.”

“ _Now_.” Her brow rose. “Fuck me _now_.”

Heat slammed so forcefully into the wet agony between her legs, it left her dizzy.

 _Breathless_ ….

She raised a hand again, the three men stopping almost immediately, a knowing look on each of their faces as Fredric whistled.

“Looks like it’s Ferelden’s victory, after all.”

A backward glance, and Gaile winked at Alistair, the king’s face a furious red as Isabela dragged her away.  


	4. Rise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A ‘human interest’ piece.  
>  _Ooh_.

* * *

 

“…Hawke…” Her finger stopped; a sleep addled murmur…before— “Hawke?” 

Scared.

 _Anxious_.

She felt the familiar _ache_. “Here,” Gaile shivered, hugging herself tighter, “I’m still here.”

A backward glance and she caught her lover rising, tossing sheets and furs aside. 

“…You all right?”

She turned back to a brass porthole — thick, fogged glass, framing a dismal view. “Mm.”

Body heat and warm cloth. “You haven’t slept.” Matter-of-fact. Isabela wrapped her in a blanket from behind.

“No.” A sad smile.

The pirate sighed. “Balls. I’m losing my touch, aren’t I?” A scoff. “I bloody well must be if I didn’t manage passing you out after _that_ night…”

Another smile. Another shiver.

Isabela pressed closer; held _tighter_.

Gaile eyed turbulent, grey waves.

Anxiety.

 _Agitation_.

She could _handle_ those.

 _Dammit_ , she _could_ —

“Hawke?”

She loosed the breath she didn’t realize captive. “I’m fine. I just…” she closed her eyes, taking this moment — it was **_hers_** — sheltered in the surety of the other woman’s embrace…A splintered breath, “I wish it could always be like this.” The blanket was soft and _real_ between them. “I wish it weren't always a _struggle_.” Isabela was silent; the rogue cleared her throat — shook her head. “I’m, uh…” a strained laugh, “exhausted. That’s all. Mentally. I couldn’t—”

“Quiet that head of yours?” The pirate wagered for her, and Gaile offered another sad smile; another faint nod. Isabela paused. “That's three nights in a row…”

 _Careful_. As if words could tip-toe.

She frowned at the thought, rubbing a finger against the abused spot at her temple — _just_ …needing to give it _back_. That _effort_. “When it happens…All I can _think_ , is death. My family’s. My own.” She felt Isabela tense. “But…there was fear.” Slender brows dipped with her tone. “I didn’t want to die.”

“That’s good.” _Relieved_ — no more than an exhalation. “That’s _good_ , isn’t it?”

Gaile looked to her, again, wanting to catch amber — because she _did not understand_. “I can’t lose you.” _Sudden_. Isabela stared, startled; perplexed. “If I died…I’d have to give you up. It would all _end_ …But…” the words felt **_incomprehensible_** , “ _Maker_ , _I can’t lose you_ …”

The rogue watched those amber orbs shiver — knowing it was too much— _too much_ — _tortured_ and _broken_ , the pirate’s throat trembling with unknown emotion…She quickly turned away; Isabela caught the edge of her jaw. “…You won’t lose me.” Her lips began to part with all the things that would make that _untrue_ — “Hawke.” _Unyielding_. She would not let go. “You won’t lose me.”

And, it was the same look — **_feel_** — as when the woman flung herself into battle: 

The world be _damned_. 

You’re **_mine_**. 

Gaile felt her mouth hang uselessly — eyes _pleading_ —

 _Oh_ , _love_ …

That isn’t **_enough_**.

_Can’t you see?_

Tears threatened her vision.

I’ve had _too much_ ** _taken_** ** _away_**.

Isabela flipped her — pulled her into _strong_ , _comforting_ arms, to retort the best way she _knew_ — 

With no words at all. 

Holding on — taking _in_ …Until she stopped shaking. 

Until _her_ _touch_ was its own validation. The woman a deep, black ocean — leaping and _wide_ — swelling with _certainty_ …

In her storm of doubt and terror. 

And then — then the rogue would _shiver_ for an entirely different reason. Because — she’d be _lost_ without it. She’d break apart. A million tiny pieces…If this woman did not _hold her together_ ;

 _Keep her_ together.

Gaile backed away, enough to peer into eyes that _knew her_.

Stripped her clean.

Several, slow breaths. “There are times…They’re _there_ — they’re there and it’s real and I _feel_ them — _see_ them, and…” her eyes screwed shut, “I’m _me_ again.” Opened. “I’m _whole_ ….” she heard her voice _split_ and _burst_ — because there was no describing _that_ ; a broken draw of air, “Then. A moment. A single moment — an _awful_ moment, where it’s all _ripped_ _away_ — just…” her hand snatched at air, as if that could show how _sudden_ — how **_painful_** …. “I remember. They’re dead. _It_ never _was_.” She stared at nothing, lips forming shapeless things. “The… _loss_ …” her head jerked, _shaking_ , “It’s so _deep_ —” a sharp inhalation — she was _gasping_ , “I _can’t_ …remember what it was.” _Again_. Her voice shuddered. “I know nothing but ‘alone’.”

A heavy silence.

The rogue waited. Eyes dragging from the floor to meet her lover’s neck — her chin — the turn of her lips…

She could go no further.

Fear _gripped_ her. Icy talons wrapped around her _heart_ ….

She sounded _insane_. 

 _Thinking_ such things. _Speaking_ them.

 _Maker_. 

What was _she_ —

Isabela pulled her close, lips grazing the breadth of her temple. “In Rivain…there’s a general belief one’s ancestors are always near. That, there’s an invisible community, watching over those who still lived. Shielding them from harm and misfortune.” The pirate stroked her hair. “Vadzimu.” The foreign word sung in her ears; Isabela scoffed softly. “I’ve never been one to lean on religion, but…with the way your family loved you…” the pirate’s voice trailed, fingers combing her hair once more, “I don’t believe they’d wander very far.” Another poignant pause. “Even in death.” 

“Since they _owe_ me?” Her tone was _cruel_. “If I were them, I’d stay as far away as possible.” 

“Gaile.”

She _knew_ that tone — ‘that isn’t fair’…Gaile grimaced. “You weren't there. You were there when my mother was killed — but, you weren’t there for Bethany’s…” a lump choked her voice.

 ** _Murder_**. 

 _Years_. It had been _years_ , and she _still could not_ ** _say_** ** _it_**.

The rogue broke away, not being able to _take_ the other’s comfort with what she was about to give. “It…” her lip quivered as she tried to find the _words_ , “ _Maker_ , Isabela, I tried to think of it as any other _kill_ …And she just _held my hand_ —” nails dug viciously into her thigh, “lowered it for me…” an **_ache_**. Because, even then, there was only _love_ in her eyes; “Red.” Gaile felt her face writhe and twist. “Everything was _red_ — there was so much _red_ — my hands; the dagger…Her _chest_ …And I felt every _second_ — every _breath_ …Until, there was just this… _weight_ left in my arms. This _thing_ that wasn’t _her_.” Hot tears pushed their way past her defenses. “I couldn’t control the Blight or that damned ogre — or even Quentin and his _sick_ _obsession_ — but _I_ killed Bethany. I brought her into that _pit_ and I killed her.”

She watched Isabela stare with a **_heaviness_** that made her wish she never loosed this **darkness** — but it was out, now. 

She could no longer _stop_ it.

“She was so much _better_.” A wretched gasp; she struggled to _breathe_. “She should have _lived_. I should have been the one—”

The pirate’s hand was around her wrist. “Stop it.” _Harsh_. It startling to see such overwhelming confidence _buckle_ and _give_. “I never want to hear that sort of talk from you ever again.” Her grip tightened. “Do you hear me?” A fierce scowl. “Never again, Hawke.”

Gaile looked up — _shocked_ from the outburst, the steel of her grip…before a creeping _shame_ found its way to her heart, threatened to overwhelm her:

Did she not _just_ tell the other woman how she could not lose her? So, how — _how_ could she not consider Isabela feeling the same way? 

Claim _her_ loss as _more_?

Her throat tightened with regret.

She nodded silently.

Isabela released her wrist. 

 _Waited_ ….

Gaile’s fists clenched at her sides. 

Was _this_ sharing? Throwing sharp, careless things until hitting the next wall of silence? 

 _Sex_ was so much _easier_ ….

A slow breath. She swallowed thickly. “I’m not…” her hands clenched again, “well.” It felt like **_surrender_**. It felt like **_defeat_**. “What I _see_ …What I _think_ I see,” she touched her head, “It isn’t _normal_.” 

Isabela snorted, crossing her arms. “I never asked for normal.”

“You never asked for this, either.” Gaile bit out; gritted her teeth. “I feel…unstable. Before — I could drink it away. Fuck it away. Now…” _clench_ , “I can’t stop it. This…It’s…seeping into my reality. I can’t tell _what’s_ _real_.”

Silence. She watched shadows stretch across the other’s face, made harsh by the flickering candlelight. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

 _Soft_. 

 ** _Heartbreaking_**.  

“I didn’t want to worry you.” A terrible smile. “I didn’t want anything to change.’’ _I don’t want to lose you_ …She could not say those words. Bit her lip, instead. _“_ But it isn’t getting _better_. It’s only getting _worse_.”

Rolling in her chest. Boiling in her stomach.

 ** _Anger_**.

Why wasn’t she _strong_ enough to **_beat_** _this_?

Insistent hands grabbed at the thin tunic she wore, twin arms linking, assuredly, around her waist. Isabela whispered against her lips, kissed her feather-soft — claiming her mind as surely as she did her body, halting her thoughts altogether. 

The blanket held them once more. 

“For someone so good at making me spill my metaphorical guts, you’re surprisingly terrible at it.” Gaile frowned; Isabela raised a brow. “No? How about…’Outside our bed, you’re shit at receiving’?” Her expression darkened; the pirate sighed. “I’ll never understand how you can be so forgiving of others, yet have such a hard time forgiving yourself.” The other’s gaze slipped, dark brows falling. “I’ll…never understand how you forgave me.”

 _Instinct_ — her hand cupping a cheek, thoroughly searching amber. “You’re beautiful.”

And she wished she had _more to_ _give_. More words — terms — phrases — just…

**_More_.**

****That could even _begin to encompass_ the sheer **_magnitude_** of the woman before her.

…Until, the only thing that satisfied her, was knowing she’d have the rest of her life to _try_. 

The pirate leaned up to kiss her — as if sensing her frustration — knowing it as her own. “You’re good.”

She could not _face_ those words, look them in the eye. “I’m not.” 

Isabela freed a hand, guiding her back to a patient gaze. “My entire life, all I ever did was run. You… _stay_. _Give_. As if there weren’t a thing more natural…when you’ve every right to be bitter and angry at the world.” 

 _Wasn’t_ she? **_Bitter_**? Even she didn’t know why she helped people, anymore — guilt? _Penance_? Was it all she knew? 

What else did she _have_? 

So much _taken_ for a title; a lifestyle…

Maybe it just needed to be **_worth_** something. 

The other’s hand made its presence known, once more, amber orbs shifting — as if trying to _find_ her. “I feel like I’m losing you. To something I can’t even see. Something I can’t stab in the heart and leave dying in an alley.” Her jaw clenched; Isabela worked slow circles along the small of her back. “Do you remember what you told me, once? About words wanting to be said?” She _did_. And that night, Isabela had given her _everything_. “I want you to know it doesn’t have to be one-sided.” Her hand paused. “I want you to know I can listen too.” Her eyes softened. “Let me in.” _Crippling_. She pressed into her. “Let me in, Hawke.”

Gaile shook her head, even as her eyes dampened and swelled. “I…” _want to_ — **_but_** , “It’s too much. It’s _too_ _much_.” Too much to **_ask_** _. Too much_ for one person. “You’re…you’re all I have. You’re all that’s left.” Why did it feel _convenient_? Why did it feel like an **_excuse_**? She _just_ … _Maker_ , she _just_ — “I want to be invincible in your eyes.” Her body shook from the _truth of it_. “I want to be _perfect_. I want to be everything you deserve — everything you never _got_.” Her vision blurred; her jaw _ached_. “I want to give you my _best_ …” _hot_ , **_angry_** tears, “How can I like _this_? _How_ —” her throat collapsed. 

She glared viciously at the ground.

Isabela relinquished her position, stepping back to hold her face in both hands. “You aren’t invincible.” An _ebbing_ **_pain_** ; the words sharp, but fleeting. “Everyone else sees their champion: they see what they can take from you — how much you weigh in their hands.” Her touch was soft steel, forcing their eyes to connect. “I see the woman behind the title. I see _you_.” A tremor wracked her chest. Isabela smiled. “Gaile.” _Deliberate_. “You don’t have to impress me. You don’t have to _try_.” A _charged_ moment, the pirate clearing several strands from her cheek. “I’m yours.” Not frustrated. Not weary. Just…There.

Plain. 

As if she were ready — ready to say it as many times as _needed_. 

Maker. This woman….

Isabela gauged her expression, a gentle thumb swiping the corner of her eye. “Why do you feel there’s something to prove?” 

The question made her wince, despite its tenderness. “I think…” she sighed, “I think of all the things you’ve been through, all you had to _survive_ —” a harsh scoff; she ground her teeth, “I’m not the only one who’s lost things. I’m not the only one who’s suffered.”

“That isn’t how this works, Hawke.” A wrinkle marred her brow. “There isn’t anyone keeping score.”

Gaile looked down, ashamed. “I know.” A breath. “I know. I just…” 

Isabela frowned. “You feel powerless.”

It felt like a _slap to the face_ ; nails carved into the flesh of her palm. “I want control. I want a _solution_.” Her brows dipped sharply. “I don’t want to be this _thing_ that can’t be _fixed_.” Bitterness welled within her, clawing at her throat. “That wasn’t a part of the plan — _none of this_ was a part of the plan. After Kirkwall…We were supposed to be free. We were supposed to be _happy_ —”

“I’m happy, Hawke—”

“I’m _not_!” _Snapped_ — the pirate’s brows jumped; she looked away. “I’m not.” Softer. “Not like this.” Gaile forced a glance _up_ , meeting the woman’s weighted gaze. “When I was Champion, it was _constant_ , rescuing one thing after the other — I never had time to _think_.” A beat. Her jaw tensed. “Now…I have the _time_ for it. I look at myself — _see_ myself, beyond that title, and…” **_pained_** , “I don’t know who that _is_.” She felt the walls of her anger crumble — give way to a deep, bottomless _ache_. “How am I so broken?”

Such a _joke_. 

Life's _cruel_ ** _joke_** :

For her to save so _many_ , only to wind up **_shattered_** and **_twisted_** in the end. 

Isabela gathered her in her arms, _enveloping_ and _squeezing_ with a passion that made her helpless. “I’m happy.” _Again_. “I never knew that was possible, never knew an option beyond ‘miserable’ or ‘free’…” her brow furrowed, “And it was bloody _difficult_ , Hawke. You know how long it took me to finally come round. I made mistakes…” a burdened pause, “Awful things I can never take back.” The rogue frowned. “But…I let myself have it anyway.” The pirate shifted. “Happiness.” Warm amber orbs found her once more. “You.” The moment — the _word_ — threatened to overwhelm her…. “You’re still here, and I’m still here — and it’s been _years_ … and I still feel free.” A hand slipped to her chest, tugging the tunic until she touched skin. “And this…” a smile. Gaile felt her heart _leap_ , as if trying to meet her, “It’s home.”

Her heart _leapt_ again, this time, to her throat — because _she could not_ ** _speak_**.

And, somehow…in some warm, impossible way, that was fine. 

 _Perfect_ , really. 

Because the other woman had made this moment— 

 _Crafted_ it. 

So she would not have to. 

Isabela nestled into the hook of her shoulder, lips curling against her skin. “When have things ever gone according to plan?” The pirate hummed her disapproval. “Honestly. It’s why I never use them.” Gaile felt a smile _push_ to surface, despite herself. Maybe it was just because the other was near. Isabela sighed. “I’ll say it again: we make an utter shit pair. Both wholly convinced they’re not what the other deserves.”

A _laugh_. There something about hearing that sad truth aloud. “Shit.” Light touches down the curve of her spine. “We really _are_ worthless, aren’t we?” 

Her lover ‘ _mm_ -ed’ an affirmation…before suddenly retreating, looking her straight in the eye. “Smooth seas make shit sailors.” A hand cupped her cheek. “You’re _worth_ fighting for.” Her breath caught in her chest. Because a part of her _knew_ — _knew_ the other would say just that…But. It was so _wonderful_. Wonderful to _hear_. “Whatever you need, however long it takes — I’ll be by your side. There isn’t any need for you to solve this in a day — there isn’t any need for you to solve it at all. You won’t disappoint anyone. You won’t disappoint me.” Another burning tear: _that_  everything she **_feared_**. Isabela pressed her lips to its crooked trail. “We can _do_ this, Hawke. Together.” Every line of her features set with determination. “There isn’t any reason we can’t still be happy.”  

Gaile closed her eyes. A need to _bask_ …How could _this_ woman ever _question_? How could _this_ woman ever _doubt_? It wasn’t a requirement. The other did not _need_ to say it. Not when she made her feel _it_ so thoroughly. So _sharply_. So **_deeply_**. 

Love. 

 _Ah_ —

Maker, it’s _all over_ …

“ _Bela_ …” her voice unraveled. 

It left as ‘ _please_ ’. 

Isabela’s eyes darkened, a hand already at the back of her head — tangling in her hair — urging her forward. She _gasped_ when their lips connected.

Her kiss felt like _light_. 

She breathed in _light_.

“ _All of you_ …” _throaty_ ; the pirate stole another kiss — as if it weren’t freely given… “Gaile…” she tugged on her lower lip at the end, teasing with teeth in that way she _loved_ , before soothing the ache away. “ _I want it_ _all_ …”

Her heart felt like it was on _fire_.

The woman set her on _fire_.

But, it was _more_ —

It _was_

 ** _Realization_**.

 _Shaking_ her to the very foundations.

The other needed this _just as much_.

Gaile reached between them, rolling the tunic up and over her head. 

Isabela kissed her again, a finger curled into her hips as she led her back to their bed.


	5. Revelations

* * *

_Surely some revelation is at hand;_

_Surely the Second Coming is at hand._

* * *

 

 _Huff_.

 _Huff_.

_Huff_

She felt several beads of sweat roll, hot and swift down her skin.

 _Huff_. 

 _Huff_. 

 _Huff_.

Her breaths were violent: spiking — _leaping_. Devoured. Pushed _out_.

 _Huff_. 

 _Huff_. 

 _Huff_.

She had wanted to run. _Sprint_. Until her legs would ache and complain and **_groan_** … and she _collapsed_ from _exhaustion_. 

She.

Wanted to

feel that _pinch_ in her abs. The _burn_ slowly invade her lungs.

She wanted to _run_.

Not ‘away’. 

Not as punishment. 

Not as an _escape_. 

 _Just_ —

She wanted to feel what she felt the night before. Catch what Isabela _stirred_ within her.

 ** _Feel_** ,

 _Alive_.

 _Bum-bum_. 

 _Bum-bum_.

 _Bum-bum_.

Her feet smacked against wood.

 _Bum-bum_. 

 _Bum-bum_. 

 _Bum-bum_. 

Her heart beat wildly.

_‘What do you need?’ Isabela curled against her, sated and warm, a leg wrapping, twining. ‘To… feel safe?’_

_‘This.’ Because the other made it so_ **_simple_ ** _. ‘You.’_

 _Bum-bum_.

 _Bum-bum_. 

 _Bum-bum_.

Two — six — _all_ — of the crew above deck tossed whistles as she passed.

Cleared a path for her.

Raced her round a bend.

 _Laughter_.

…Until, the _ache_ and the _pinch_ and the _burn_ finally caught up with her — and her old wounds began to _twinge_ ….

Gaile slowed. Slowed…Slowed. Arms _stretched_ …before linking behind her head _._

She turned toward the railing. _Breathed_ in the view. The blinding sun; the screaming gulls; the rolling sea…

And—

She panted softly against the breeze.

It didn’t _feel_ like a prison. 

It didn’t feel like she was _trapped_.

It felt,

Like…

She closed her eyes.

 _Acceptance_.

Like she didn’t have to be anything _else_.

It felt like Isabela’s smile.

Gaile felt her face warm with a heat beyond the sun: 

Andraste’s _tit_. She was _smitten_. 

A smirk found her lips, regardless, as she readjusted the crimson braid at her waist, a thumb hooking the makeshift band she used to tie her hair as she made her way to the bow.

Talking. Sharing….had been **_excruciating_**. **_Difficult_**. But. She felt…something _give_. _Loosen_ and _shake free_. Because. Finally — _finally_ …She’d given it _all_ :

The broken bits. The ugly pieces.

And, someone—

 _Isabela_.

 ** _Still_** …

It made her flush, anew — stop in her tracks — **_shiver_**. And it had taken _everything she had_ to let the woman leave their bed — because, she only need _think_ of _that_ …And, her fingers were _restless_. 

And she was buried between her thighs….

Gaile closed her eyes again; exhaled…Did her best to pull herself together when a few of the men eyed her with a mixture of worry and knowing — smiling when she spotted the three figures she was looking for, the shortest leaning against a thick mast, while the other two faced each other.

She approached, catching Alistair’s voice on the passing breeze. “…much longer?”

“A few hours, give or take.” She watched Isabela cross her arms. Heighten breasts that needed no additional help. “But, you’ve yet to tell us what to expect when we get there. Or why you’ll be needing us in the first place.”

Honeyed orbs suddenly flicked past the man, meeting hers with immediate warmth. 

A devastating wink; a soft smirk. A silent question; a gentle affirmation — it all just _moments_ …

And it was just another thing. Another thing she _loved_.

Gaile nodded to Varric and Alistair before maneuvering around the king to pull the pirate near — press her lips to hers. 

And, 

 _Maker_ …

It should have been a _simple_ thing. A gesture that she was grateful. For last night—

For _everything_. 

She hadn’t wanted to make a **scene**.

But, then Isabela cradled her hip, touched the small of her back — wrapped her in a _stunning_ intimacy…Smiled into their kiss, ‘ _mm-ed_ ’, rich and deep in her natural way — and there was a dark whisper of _finishing what they started_ …. 

And…

 ** _Heat_**. 

She gasped.

 _Furious_ ** _heat_**.

Isabela sighed. 

 _Glorious_ ** _heat_**.

…And she… _was_ …

 ** _Melting_** ….

Varric cleared his throat loudly. “Will I have to separate you two for the remainder of the trip?”

Gaile peeked through heavy, drunken lids, in a _daze_ …The comment enough to get her to take some indeterminate step backward — but not before drinking in wicked, golden orbs. Full, smirking lips. 

Maker. This woman.

“You could,” a breath, “You could get in between us, Varric.” Managed after glancing away. “You’re the only one who _could_. Sandwiched between our writhing forms; valiantly keeping us apart—”

“ _Glistening_ …” Isabela cooed.

She shuddered. “Are you writing this down, man?”

The dwarf tsked, even while grinning. Alistair scratched a cheek, bright red.

“ _So_ …If we could, possibly, find our way back to the issue at hand…” 

“Oh, _fine_.” The pirate captain released her, turning back to the king with an appeasing gesture. “But only because you are so _darling_ when you get all serious.”

Alistair’s countenance darkened, even as the stain of his embarrassment lingered. “You wanted to know why I’ll need your assistance: I need to gain access to a place few know more than legend.” His brows furrowed sharply. “The Antivan Crows have an archive. My source verified it as an armed repository and gave me its location.”

Isabela produced an apple, as if from thin air, buffing it lazily against her sash. “Does this source of yours have a name?”

The king gave her a tight-lipped smile.

“Right.” Her eyes narrowed. “You still don’t trust us.” Isabela tossed the apple her way; she caught it appreciatively. “Well — most of us.”

Gaile grinned. “What do you hope to find there?”

“Information—more than I currently have. I need to…” a difficult expression, “confirm several things I’ve doubted, so far. The ‘things’ I mentioned shouldn’t exist.” She nodded; he returned it solemnly. “But there’s a single problem—” 

“Isn’t there, just…” the pirate rolled her eyes.

His brows furrowed. “I know the information I need is inside the archive; I don't know _where_. I’ll have to look for it.” 

Gaile ran her thumb along waxy, red skin. “So, we’re not only getting you into this archive — we’re buying you time while we’re there?”

The king nodded again. “Yet another reason I’ll need your assistance — _all_ of your assistance.” He regarded them individually. “I know the _what_ and the _where_ , but not the _how_.” A frown. “I also can’t say I’m any more familiar with the city we’ll be occupying.” 

“Which is why you have me.” Isabela supplied. “I could navigate that city blindfolded and gagged — especially, the seedier parts.” Alistair colored; Varric clucked his tongue. “What? The first was for impact; the second’s just _fun_.”

Gaile grinned widely. “‘Blindfolded’? ‘Gagged’? ‘ _Seedier_ ’?” She clapped, _dazzled_. “Is it just me, or is your innuendo astonishingly more _elaborate_ these days?”

“I’ve been practicing.” A smirk.

Varric shook his head with a chuckle, pushing off the mast to stand before Alistair. “Not to dampen your spirits, O King — or doubt this… enigmatic source you’ve picked up, but these _are_ Crows, we’re talking about. Renowned, deadly, ‘little voice in every Antivan nobles’ ear’, Crows. How easy do you think it’ll be to get into this archive of theirs?”

Another frown. “Well, I don’t suppose they go around handing keys to well-meaning strangers…But, between the four of us;” a slight pause; his eyes clouded with some thought — and it was not the first time Gaile felt he was hiding something, “I’m sure we’ll be able to handle whatever we happen to find there.”

The dwarf raised a gloved hand. “Let me get this straight: your plan is, ‘ask the Crows nicely, and if they should happen to say ‘no’, kick in the front door’?"

“Well, when you put it like that…”

Gaile nudged her friend with a smile. “Come now, Varric — it isn’t as if we’ve never played it by ear, before. Like that time with the ambush your _lovely_ contact Edge led us straight to in the market.” 

“Never going to let me live that one down, are you, Hawke?” She smiled brightly. “You trust one bad lead, and it ruins your good name for life.”

“Varric, you never _had_ a ‘good’ name.” 

“…Slightly tarnished, name.”

She smirked. “What Varric is trying to say, Alistair, is that it wouldn’t hurt to employ a bit of…diplomacy.” A hand curled beneath her chin, her expression sobering. “We should spend at least a night or two learning the lay of the land ourselves: decent vantage points, strategic advantages on both sides — seeing with our own eyes how the Crows operate in their city.” Her brows dipped sharply. “Most importantly, we’ll need a base. We can’t just raid a Crows’ repository and not have a place to retreat to.”

An immediate presence against her back; warm lips along her ear. “You and your plans…”

“Impressive, aren’t they?” Gaile shivered, feeling Isabela _hum_ an affirmative. “They do so _well_ at keeping us alive. I thought — why not?”

The pirate leaned in. “While I do enjoy watching that pretty mouth of yours…Your stomach’s putting up a fit.” Her fingers trailed the area leisurely, the cloth there clinging to her damp skin, still. “Appropriate since you skipped breakfast. And before you think yourself clever, _I’m_ not a substitute, you minx.” Gaile pouted — she _liked_ being clever. Isabela lifted the apple in her hand, shooting her a look, before slipping away. “As for our secret base…I have a place in mind.” They each eyed her with varying degrees of dubiousness; she laughed. “Don’t you worry your pretty little heads over it.” A wink. “Now, if there isn’t anything else, I _do_ have a ship to run…”

“Uh, speaking of ships…” Alistair raised his hand, “this one seems a lot…bigger than the one I remember in Denerim.” A thoughtful pause. “…‘The Siren’s Call’?”

“Yes, well, that one got destroyed.” She sighed, shrugging her shoulders. “Stolen Qunari artifact — you know how that goes.”

“I… No.”

Isabela ignored him, spreading her limbs _wide_ as if to take the ship in her arms. “This beauty, is The Wicked Dancer.” An indent in her brow. “The name wasn’t my choice, but it’s all sorts of bad luck to change it.”

“And what would we do with all the embroidered tea cozies?” Another _look_ ; Gaile sighed, taking a large bite from the apple as if to say ‘happy, you _horrid_ slave driver?’

The pirate smirked—practically _purred_ — the cat who ate the canary, before giving Alistair a stiff swat against the back. “Take a nap, if you like. Or polish that long sword of yours…Though, I suppose the two could be reversed.” She chuckled to herself, turning on her heel. “Either way, you’ll be the first to know when we make it to port.”

Varric shuffled past them, as well. “Diamondback, later?”

“Winner gets to wax Bianca?” He raised an expectant brow; Gaile sighed. “One day, you’ll fall for it…”

The dwarf snorted, dipping his head in departure as he went on his way.

She turned to see Alistair watching Isabela, the woman already melded into the scene of ordered frenzy, barking commands as if she never missed a beat.

“Sexy, isn’t it?” Alistair coughed; she laughed, taking another bite of her apple as a predictable shade of red marked his ears.

The king straightened, and she was both impressed and oh-so disappointed by the swift recovery, “It’s as if looking at a completely different person, is all.” Gaile smiled: she’d felt the same, the first few times she’d seen it. Maybe it never would stop being _extraordinary_. “Her crew has to be, at least, forty — where did she find them all?” 

“Here and there. Some are a part of her old crew that managed to survive the destruction of her first ship — like Brand. Others…” the rogue spun the apple in her hand thoughtfully, “Well…She just _knows_. She gets this look in her eye when they’re what she’s looking for. And, that’s that.” Another bite. An incredulous stare. The rogue covered her mouth, chuckling. “She’d be the first to deny it, but she’s a fantastic judge of character. You’re here for the coin, sure — but, also because some part of her _believes_ in you.” She scoffed. “A big softie, that one.” Gaile went in for another bite…pausing as the corner of her lips flared. “That, and I’m sure she thinks helping the king of my homeland will get her _vigorous_ , ‘thank you’ sex, in the end.”

The man all but choked again, and she felt accomplished — _this particular_ red lasting _far_ _longer_ than the others. He looked in every direction but hers and Gaile finished what remained of the apple before he dared speak again. 

“I…haven’t exactly heard tales of pirate loyalty. How does she keep them all in line?” He turned to face her. “On that matter, how did she get the Champion of Kirkwall as her second-in-command?”

A smile. She twirled a yellowing core by the stem. “Isabela made the offer; I accepted it. There really wasn’t much more to it than that.” Her expression grew. “And, let’s face it: being on the run while at sea? There are some things a girl doesn't say no, to.” Twirl. Twirl. “And I love her.” Alistair looked at her. The core was still. “But. I thought that a tad obvious.”

The man turned back to the scene. Eyes warmer.

Gaile joined him. “I know you don’t trust them, Alistair — but I do. The two of them have stuck by me through some of the worst moments of my life.” A beat. “They…may have also caused several of them — but that’s beside the point.” A smirk…before it tempered, became something quiet and _real_ ; she turned to look him in the eye. “If you trust me, trust that I trust them.”

A tight-lipped smile.

She laughed softly.

“Strip Diamondback, it is, then!” She grabbed his arm, leading the sputtering king down below.

 

* * *

 

Varric hiked a carefully balanced Bianca up his shoulder. “Think this is a good idea?”

“Letting an impetuous king wander ahead, alone, while we wait in the shadows?” Gaile tugged on the hood of her cloak, the fabric refusing to inch any lower. “I’m warming up to it…”

“Well, Bianca’s getting nervous.” He stroked her barrel, gently, features harsher in the silvery moonlight. “And, I’m inclined to agree with her.”

“Now, now: nameless Avvarian bow made of red cedar, seems to be doing just fine.” Said bow rested against a stone build-up, jutting from the parapet they hid behind, ready to be plucked at a moment’s notice. “If we attack, now, we alert everyone in the area of our position — including nasty little Crows we _can’t_ see.” She shifted a padded knee, leaning forward to gain a better view. “Besides: Isabela’s down there…somewhere. He isn’t entirely abandoned.”

Varric shrugged a shoulder. 

Gaile tugged her hood.

 _Sigh_. 

Of **_course_** things hadn't gone to plan.

Of **_course_** Alistair hadn't listened. 

She’d been on the sea _far_ too long and now she had bloody **_expectations_** …

So. They improvised.

Which was a _shame_ , given how charming the city was, nearly bursting with the scent of spiced brandies, pungent wines and _crisp_ leathers… All usually accompanied by a pair of _lips_.

My, but the people _were_ pretty in Antiva….

But, she could not see those pretty people. Because she was stuck on top a roof, with an undeniably handsome, yet very taken dwarf, trying to prevent the diplomatic **_shit storm_** that was Ferelden king dying on Antivan soil.

Gaile sighed again. 

Smirked. 

A part of her **_missed_** this.

She peeked beyond the wall, once more, squinting her eyes in the relative darkness only to find the same empty street. The same silent buildings…An eerie _calm_ surrounding them — choking the air and making the hairs on the back of her neck stand at attention. Unlike the port and lower reaches, filled with slamming doors and festive laughter, this part of the city seemed all but abandoned; the occasional ignited or extinguished flame in a window of a neighboring building, the most activity, thus far.

The Crow archive was just beyond an imposing, stone archway in the distance — the very same archway their royal traveling companion had disappeared through moments earlier.

Varric shifted, expression darkening. “…Did you hear that?”

Her brow furrowed. “I didn’t—” 

A shriek of pain. The clatter of metal against stone.

Gaile sighed, reaching for her bow. “So much for diplomacy…”

The dwarf rose with a grin, a single foot planted on the edge of the parapet wall.

Frantic footsteps echoed in the narrow thoroughfare, a single helmeted man tearing down the cobbled path.

“Looks like we’ve got a runner.”

She notched an arrow. “Well, Varric, don’t be _rude_. Introduce yourself, to the poor thing.”

A single ‘ _click_ ’, and Bianca’s four metal laths sprung apart, a violent stream of arrows zipping through the air.

The man barely had time to wheeze his surprise, a single of Varric’s bolts nicking his thigh forcefully enough to draw blood.

He swore, gritting his teeth harshly as he scrambled to duck behind a nearby wagon.

“Shit. Bastard found cover.” Varric retracted Bianca with a grimace. “And, it looks like there may be some sort of opening on the other side of him!”

Gaile released the tension she built, letting the arrow fall as she sprinted down the tiled roof, easily clearing the negligent gaps between each building — skidding to a stop when the man was in plain view.

He swallowed nervously, glaring at the street—cradling his leg—before making a move toward the alley. 

An arrow landed an inch from his nose. 

The man fell back, startled, head feverishly whipping side to side for its source; a shadow grew behind him, curved blades, catching light — gleaming, menacingly.

Gaile’s brow rose, watching bronzed arms snake around the man’s neck like a lover’s embrace…seconds before slitting his throat. 

The man collapsed. Isabela rose to her full height, winking in her direction.

“So, that’s where you were…” she shook her head, impressed, slinging the bow back over her shoulder as she made her way to the roof’s edge, accosting a pipe to climb her way down.

She emerged from the shadows, to find Varric on the ground, already; he tossed her the arrow she discarded on the roof.

“Not bad.”

“For a non-crossbow, user?” Gaile grinned, depositing it into her quiver. “It isn’t quantity, Varric — it’s _quality_.”

The dwarf snorted, reclaiming his own bolts from the cobbled street. “Everyone’s a critic…”

“I didn’t even know you used a bow.” Isabela appeared from behind, wiping her daggers. “Why not do that more often?”

“I wouldn’t want to make Bianca jealous.” The pirate stared at her. “All right, maybe a _smidge_.” They shared grins. “But. The fact remains: if there are two archers, Varric won’t _feel as_ _important_.”

He chuckled. “She raises a fine point, Rivaini. There can only be one ridiculously handsome, bow toting dwarf in said party.”

Gaile clasped her hands together. “Oh, _Varric_ …We all know I want to be just like you when I grow up.”

Isabela smirked, replacing her daggers to run a single finger down the curve of her bow. “All these years, and I’m still learning things about you…” 

“That’s the adventure.”

“ _Oh_ …” she licked her lips, “There may be a pirate in you yet.”

A grin. “Maybe there is.” 

She reached for the strap between her breasts. “If there is,” their bodies met, “I may have to _find_ her…”

“You’ll need to dig _deep_ ….”

“Will the two of you stop _eye-fucking_ each other?” The dwarf crossed his arms, irritably. “You’re making Bianca uncomfortable.”

Gaile backed away, batting her lashes. “We could eye-fuck you, if you’d prefer, Varric.”

“And Bianca?” The pirate ogled shamelessly.

“Always.” She joined the other woman, eying the curve of her trigger. “You really _should_ share that bit of friend fiction you wrote: the one where you stole Bianca away while Varric was sleeping and it was your turn to stand watch on the Wounded Coast?”

“…Who said that was just fiction?”

“ _What_?”

Isabela spun on her heel, practically skipping to the stone archway. “Nothing!”

Varric looked to her; she merely shrugged, with a ‘who knows?’, following the pirate’s lead.

Isabela stopped suddenly, and Gaile watched her give a kneeling Alistair a once over…before regarding the helmeted guard, in a corner, a shallow wound at his side. 

The pirate reached for a dagger. “Need me to finish that one?”

Alistair grimaced, removing the fingers he’d held to the man’s neck. “He’s incapacitated. There isn’t any need to take his life.”

“‘ _Need_ ’?” She scoffed. “He had a sword in his hand, dear. Pick up one of those, and you’re damned sure to use it.”

His expression darkened. “The man you killed tossed his away.”

“Eh.” The pirate looked bored. “Why quibble over details? Dead is dead, and we’ve still a job to do.”

“Agreed.” Alistair stood to his feet. “There, at least. Let’s get this over with.” 

Isabela glanced over her shoulder. “Think that was his ‘commanding’ voice?”

Varric smirked. “I’m sure it works if you’re _from_ Ferelden.” 

“ _Yes_ , my king.” Gaile rushed past them. “ _Whatever you desire_ , my king.”

“Ooh. I like where this is going…” Isabela looked excitedly between them.

Alistair massaged a temple. “Can we, please— _please_ —just enter the archive? _Before_ the Crows find us raiding it?” 

“Spoilsport.” 

Gaile sighed. “To be continued…” she hopped up marble stairs, the tall, entry doors opening with a satisfying groan.

Varric whistled. 

Alistair brandished his sword. 

Iridescent beams of moonlight drifted faintly from a domed skylight, sweeping arched alcoves, curving metals and precious, worked stones to adorn the space like an ethereal crown.

“So, this is the Crow’s archive…” the dwarf inspected a marble column, nodding to its exacting detail, “I bet this place has everything from extortion ledgers to prized, secret recipes.”

Gaile gasped. “You mean _this_ is where I can find how to make that _elusive_ Antivan poundcake?” Varric smirked; she eyed a gilded, glass case enclosing an unfurled scroll. “I can’t help feeling a tinge of disappointment, however. It’s fancy, certainly — but exactly like every other library I’ve set foot in.” A disillusioned sigh. “I was so hoping an Antivan repository would be more _exciting_ …”

“…Like one of their books popping off a shelf to nibble its way down your back?” The pirate offered.

“There’d be a concern of paper cuts, but sure.”

Varric grunted. “There’d be more than that: I don’t think we know any ‘paper’ mages.”

“Well. I’m sure they and spit mages get along _famously_.”

The dwarf opened his mouth to retort — before leaping forward, reaching a hand out to grab Alistair by the arm. 

“Uh…” a raised brow, “Varric?”

“Just,” he grit his teeth, “move over here a bit — and don’t make any unnecessary movements.”

Another odd stare…The king gradually following his instructions as Varric dropped to his knees.

“Varric.” No response. Alistair sighed. “Varric, we’re wasting _time_.” 

Isabela clucked her tongue. “Quit your whining and let him _work_.”

Gaile smiled, crossing her arms and leaning against a column, watching the dwarf frown at a spot on the floor. 

A single finger was pressed against the tile. 

Several, hooked arrowheads sprung from the mouths of three carved serpents, coiled around a column. 

“Oh my…” Gaile watched them clatter to the ground.   

Varric glanced back at them. “Tooth of the serpent.”

Alistair frowned. “That wasn’t—”

“Now, now: keep watching.” 

A screeching, mechanical noise filled the room, as if on cue, two large mechanisms erupting from dummy tiles as their attached blades cleanly severed the once occupied space.

Isabela nudged her arm. “Exciting enough for you?”

A grin. “My life is complete.”

Varric stood, dusting off his jacket. “Ladies and gent: I present to you, a dragon’s crèche:” he gestured toward the winding blades, “a building, _literally_ designed, to kill you.” He smirked. “Good vanity projects for old dwarven families…” a shrug, “Crows, too, apparently.”

“And, now we know why there were only two guards outside…” Gaile stepped away from the column, bending to apprehend one of the small, hooked arrowheads to inspect it more closely, “Why kill intruders when you can have the building do it for you?” She nodded in the dwarf’s direction. “Very _good_ , Varric.”

He twirled a hand in an elaborate bow.

Isabela scoffed. “I’ll have you know, I could have easily done the same.”

“Not without keen dwarven eyes.”

“Uh-oh.” Gaile looked up, amused. “I feel a ‘trap-off’ coming on…” The two exchanged knowing grins; she shook her head, spotting their royal companion removing an unlit torch. “For us non-rogue types in the party,” she turned to Alistair, “Varric, just saved you from several of these” she raised the sharpened point, “in the jugular. And even if you hadn’t instantly bled out, this _nasty_ little hook, here,” the arrowhead was tilted, “snags on whatever vital it can, and _rips_ it out when you tug it.” She let it slip from her fingers. “Well worth a moment’s wait, wouldn’t you say?”

Alistair looked away, brows bunching tightly…before a terrible shame passed his features. He exhaled; dipped his head appreciatively. “Thank you, Varric.”

The dwarf returned the gesture. “What sort of penner of tales would I be, letting our valiant king die in the first act?”

“A shit one, that’s what.” Isabela smirked, walking ahead. “You do whatever you came here to do. We’ll take care of everything.”

Gaile smiled, nodding toward the back. “Shall we?”

Varric did a double take. “Wait — you aren’t going to help?”

“And chip a nail? For _shame_ , Varric. For _shame_ …” she grinned, linking arms with the man beside her, “I think I’ll stay with Alistair; fawn over him a bit more.”

The pirate’s hands were on her hips. “You two better not do anything while I’m not watching!”

Alistair gaped at her. “That’s…not…right.”

She dragged the man along. “No promises!”

Alistair stiffened next to her, eyes narrowing as he scanned various bookcases.

Gaile released his arm. “So. Where to?”

“There.” He sheathed his sword. “That back corner.”

She resisted asking ‘ _why_ ’ that particular corner, and ‘ _I thought you had no idea where it was_?’ — following, silently, into a shadowy nook flanked by columns.

Alistair set the torch in a nearby receptacle, removing a slender dagger and a piece of flint from his belt, striking them surely to set the lifeless torch, aflame. He did not glance back at her, instead, snatching scrolls from their respective shelves, methodically unfurling them and scanning their contents, before tossing what he did not find useful, aside.

Gaile peeked out the corner, catching sight of Isabela and Varric disabling traps as if it really _were_ a competition, the two declaring the names of their discoveries, as if scrawling dark lines on a sheet of paper. She smiled, turning away from the scene to look in the other direction, eyes searching the vastness that lay, still, beyond — before it faded into darkness. The archive was surprisingly large—more wide, than deep—every usable square inch, seemingly, dedicated to a bookcase or pedestal containing untold Crow secrets…

Enough to make her wonder:

Which would gain the occupation of a king?

A frown.

No doubt far more than she gave credit for.

Gaile sighed, turning back to see dozens more scrolls added to the scattered heap behind Alistair. “Any luck?” 

Another discarded scroll. “No.”

“Alistair.” The yellow-orange flame trembled and flared; the man tore open another scroll, eyes scrolling, furiously, “There are better ways to get what you want — for a king, especially. Why not have one of your personal guards accompany you on this? Or recruit a small detail?” Silence. She crossed her arms. “Hiring utter strangers for a job you clearly have a personal stake in, just seems a bit risky, is all.”

He paused. It only a moment, before another scroll was in his grasp. “I hired Isabela because I was assured she was capable and knew the places I needed to get to; Varric wasn’t exactly _planned_ — but then,” a backward glance, “neither were you.” Their eyes met, a flicker in his brown orbs she could barely discover; he turned away. “But there aren’t many options for a king who needs to keep secrets.” Another pause. “Especially selfish ones.”

“We’re tools, then?”

Brown snapped to her, again — _furious_ — his entire expression _tightening_ …until—

 _Regret_.

Gaile shifted closer, avoiding rolls of parchment. “You said I was wrong. That I would never trade an entire city for my family.” His brows fell again, a signal that was how he felt _still_ ; her expression did not change. “You counted on the person you heard me to be. You still do.” She stood before him, gaze firm. “The person—the _hero_ —I heard of, would never use people, just to throw them away.” She lifted the scroll he held. “Not even for himself.”

“I,” he faltered, mouth a harsh, thin line, “wish it were that simple.”

She eyed him questioningly — before her hand held a dagger, its blade diverting an arrow aimed for Alistair’s hand. “ _Lovely_.” Hissed through her teeth. “Battle poses, everyone! I believe we have company.” 

A _bright_ , _unrelenting_ light.

They shielded their eyes.

A deep laugh filled the area, bouncing off the walls with superiority and scorn. “Well — this _is_ amusing.” Six armed Crows surrounded a single man, a brilliant orb clutched tightly in hand. “You found all our traps, but missed the alarm.”

“Keen dwarven eyes, indeed.” Varric grumbled under his breath; Isabela took a fearless step forward. “If it isn’t Claudio Valisti.”

Gaile tensed.

 _What_?

“Is that—” an open _sneer_ , “Isabela! Hm. You always did have a knack for meeting people in unsavory places.” He cocked his head. “Are you raiding archives, now? If you’re truly so desperate for coin, I’m sure I could find you an alley somewhere…”

“How about we find an alley, instead?” She slipped beside the pirate, daggers gripped mercilessly.

Another laugh. “And _you_ are?” 

“A person you wouldn’t want to meet in an alley.”

The man paused; scrutinized hooded features; smirked. “My! All this fire for a backwater whore.” Her jaw _clenched_. “One could get the impression you don’t like me, stranger.”

“Let me put it this way…” her grip was almost painful, “ _Yes_.”

Gaile tensed, again, feeling a hand on her shoulder; Alistair stepped in front of them, expression unreadable. 

“Did I hear right?” His voice was low. “ _You’re_ Claudio Valisti? _The_ Claudio Valisti?”

The man scrutinized him with narrowed eyes…before laughing uproariously. “ _Maldiciõn_! Do not tell me — _you_ are King Alistair?” He lifted a hand, the Crows around him immediately lowering their weapons. “You are either very confident; or very foolish, to come here personally. Either way, you are quite fortunate it was, I, who responded to the alarm.”

“I’ll thank the Maker before bedtime.” 

Claudio smirked, extinguishing the orb of light, to let moonlight reign again.

Alistair released his hold, and Gaile followed the man with her eyes as he descended a spiral stair, the king meeting him at the landing.

“So!” Claudio clapped his hands. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

A grave expression; he raised the scroll. “I had to know it was real.”

“ _Ah_.” The other man took the offered scroll, opening it grandly…before nodding at its contents. “You are convinced, then?”

“Yes.” 

“And Velabanchel—”

“ _Yes_.”

The Crow glanced up, an interested gleam in his eyes. “Oh. Oh, I _see_.” He patted his shoulder, looking in their direction. “You do not trust them. How exceedingly wise, Your Majesty….”

Varric looked at the pirate. “…I think he’s talking about you.”

“ _Shh_.”

Claudio smirked, eying her again. “And who is _that_ one?” A grin. “An assassin of your own?” He gestured to the hood. 

Alistair smiled tightly. “You…could say that.”

Isabela touched her arm. She bit back her words; _glared_.

“Ah. Well. Perhaps you should teach her assassins are best when they are silent.” He chortled. “But, that may be something only we Crows have mastered, hm?” Another gesture to the masked men, all six of them systematically disappearing into the shadows of the archive; an extravagant wave of the arm. “You have magnificently escaped our pursuit. Leave now — and know I can aid you no further.”

Alistair nodded, turning without another word as they each followed him to the entrance.

The door slammed shut behind them.

“So. That was…” an amused snort, “eventful.” Varric cracked his knuckles; stretched his arms. “I was scared that would get ugly. Maker — it usually _does_ , in our experience.”

Isabela smiled lightly. “The night’s still young…”

“He won’t come after us.” Alistair’s eyes narrowed on the cobbled road. “Not now, at least.”

“Well, with the way Hawke was threatening him, it’s in both of our best interests.” A smirk. “Isn’t that right, Hawke?”

Silence.

She stared in the distance. 

“Uh…Hawke?” The dwarf stopped.

Her hands _clenched_.

Isabela wrapped a hand around her bicep. “How about a walk?” 

The woman blocked her view.

“Wait—” Varric was dumbfounded, “ _what_?”

But, Isabela was already pulling her away, not waiting for either man’s reaction—giving her _no_ _choice_ —as she ran down an empty road.

She followed wordlessly, through streets and alleyways; steps and bridges…Until, wood was under their feet, a cool breeze finding her from the sea — assaulting her _senses_. Salt mingled with the Antiva City night.

Isabela loosed her grip, but didn’t let go. Slowly. Slowly…slowly, stopping in the middle of the abandoned dock. “Who did you see?” 

 _Clench_. 

Release. 

“Quentin.” She ground the name out. Spat it on the ground. 

Silence.

 _Clench_.

The pirate squeezed her hand. Caught her free one. “You killed Quentin.” Soft. Reassuring. _Careful_. 

Handled like the fragile thing that she was. 

 ** _Maker_** —

“Gaile.” ‘ _Look at me._ ’ Another squeeze. “I was there when you killed him.” 

She looked away. To the distance. Where she _saw_ him. In an alley; in the shadows. _Which_ alley? Was it…That. One? No. No — it. _It_. Couldn’t…

 ** _Shit_**.

She blinked. Nodded her head harshly.

 _Looked_ _away_. 

Because, Maker — Maker, she’d utterly **_embarrassed_** herself _again_ —

But Isabela’s fingers already tugged at her hood, eyes following wherever hers ran.

“Gaile.”

A shiver down her spine. 

She stopped running. 

A deep breath. “Who was that man?” Her eyes narrowed. “At the archive?”

Isabela frowned. “A business partner.” Concise. “My husband’s.”

“And that’s the only way you know him?”

The woman paused; looked to the sea; paused. “You remember when I told you of Luis’ little parties — how he ‘used’ me as entertainment?”

A chill. Like ice against her spine—before— _staggering_ **_anger_**. **_Red_**. “Did he—?”

“Yes.” Her expression was frozen.

“ _I’ll kill him_.” ******_Growled_**.

Isabela pulled the hood back over her head. “You’re supposed to be keeping a low profile, remember?” She held each hand; straightened them. Again—again—until they were flat in her palms. “You won’t. Because that was ages ago. And Alistair needs him.”

Her heart _ached_. Not because of facts. The _useless_ , **_sinking_** feeling. But—

She kissed her. 

“Gaile…”

 _Held_ her.

Just—

 _Held_ …

A harsh draw of air. 

 _Held_ ,

The pirate sighed.

 _Held_.


	6. Contingency

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...That moment you FINALLY publish the chapter you've been *waiting* on.
> 
> AHHH.

* * *

 

“So,” Gaile stepped inside, holding open the door, “three rogues and a king walk into a brothel…”

“Heard it.” Varric smirked, strolling past her.

Alistair and Isabela followed, the pirate catching her hand the moment it slipped from the door — leading her to a pillow flanked table nestled in a dimly lit corner.

The two men laid their weapons in the nook behind them, before claiming their respective stacks; Isabela snuck a thumb on either side of her hood. “You’ll be safe here. No one will recognize you or Alistair.”

Gaile sighed, removing her bow. “And here I thought you missed my face…”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” A smirk. Her lover withdrew a single finger, following the curve of her tattoo…teasing a pouting lip. “I suppose you aren’t _too_ unattractive…”

“Oh, stop. You’ll make me _blush_.”

She motioned to the empty side of the table with a flourish, letting the pirate squeeze past to sit next to Varric, before settling in her own cushy seat with a smile.

“Alcohol; pretty people — _pillows_.” Gaile stretched out, content. “Can this be my new ‘happy place’?”

The dwarf chuckled, waving over a server. “I’ve gotta hand it to you, Rivaini: this den of ill repute puts the Blooming Rose to shame.”

“Fantastic, isn’t it?” Isabela rested an arm against the table, splaying her legs so their thighs brushed. “And we haven’t even been upstairs…”

“I’ll pass — thanks.” She watched Alistair glance stiffly around the room, a good number of patrons tossing winks and coy smiles in his direction, “Downstairs seems…friendly enough.”

Gaile grinned, noticing her own attention, the heated stares and licked lips…And with every _pluck_ of the string, every _rap_ of the drum, there was the faint accompaniment of a _pleasured moan_ ….

“Varric…”

The dwarf smirked. “You thinking what I'm thinking?”

They leaned forward in unison. “Charm-off!”

Isabela looked thoroughly amused.

Alistair looked thoroughly confused.

“ _Right_ ….Just to clarify — there aren’t merely ‘trap-offs’, but ’charm-offs’, as well?”

The pirate shrugged. “We’re a competitive bunch.”

Gaile leaned back, folding her arms. “Will we play by the usual rules, Varric?”

“First to get the most attention, wins?”

“Loser buys the last round.” 

A woman sauntered up to their table, as if on cue, red mane dipping past her shoulders to a tight, green outfit that left oh-so little to the imagination.

She addressed them in Antivan, an empty server’s tray at her hip, before Isabela shot back another stream of liquid phrases, and the woman smiled in understanding.

“Then, this is their first time in The Perfumed Spring…” established in the common tongue, her words just as fluid as she looked the three of them over. “We have an extensive selection of wines and spirits to quench the thirst, as well as a fully stocked kitchen, if dinner is what you prefer.” She glanced to the stair behind them, a small smirk curling her lips. “And for dessert…”

“…Pie?” Gaile wagered.

The woman’s smirk turned to her, a copper brow rising. “Fereldan?”

A smile. “Was it the intoxicating smell of wet dog, that gave it away?”

Her eyes glittered with amusement. “We don’t get many in the city — unless they are on business.”

“Technically, I am. But, I try, so very hard, to mix in bits of pleasure whenever I can get away with it…” another smirk; she met it with one of her own. “Speaking of, do you have any of that _marvelous_ brandy you Antivans are so good at making?” An affirming nod. “I’ll have a glass of your finest — a bottle, if you have it.” She turned to Isabela. “If memory serves, the one I got you last Satinalia is getting dangerously low.”

The pirate scoffed. “Because you drank it all.”

“And now, I’m buying you another. Consideration at its _finest_.”

Varric chuckled, looking to the server. “You know…I’ve had my eye on one of those beers you’ve been carrying ever since I stepped in here.”

A coy look. “Only the beer?”

The dwarf grinned.

“Make that a pitcher.” Isabela cut in with a smirk. “And since Alistair’s picking up the tab, two of the specials I saw you offering for dinner.”

“The paella?”

“That’s right: chicken and chorizo in one; rabbit and chicken in the other. Ooh — and make sure to blacken the rice. It isn’t the same, otherwise.”

The redhead looked to Alistair. He blinked in mild surprise.

“Oh — my turn?” He cleared his throat, straightening. “I’ll just have—”

“He’ll have gin.” Isabela interjected, again, pointer finger and thumb almost touching to indicate the amount. “With several wedges of lime and a sprig of mint.” The man gaped at her; she clucked her tongue. “You’ll thank me later—this is the only place in all of Thedas where’d I’d even think to take it straight. But quality gin on a dark, Antivan night?” She closed her eyes; shivered. “Pure. _Bliss_.”

Alistair sighed, pressing a finger against his temple and merely nodding.

The server smiled, with a dip of her head, before turning to leave.

Varric shook his head, watching her go. “A smile _and_ the promise of good service?” He exhaled. “Shit. I feel like I’m cheating on Norah.”

Isabela winked. “What happens in Antiva, stays in Antiva.”

“On that note…” Gaile eyed them both, “Did anyone else have the same fetching, yet equally disturbing fantasy of Aveline in a similar outfit?”

The pirate raised her hand. “It’s the hair. And the eyes.” Varric laughed, still, a hand to his stomach; Isabela smirked. “I bet Donnic could get her into a pair of stockings. _And_ garters. The ol’ battering ram would look positively _stunning_.”

Gaile grinned…before catching the severity of Alistair’s expression out of the corner of her eye. “Well. I had hoped to brighten the mood—or, at the very least, wait for the drinks—but, we really should talk about what happened.” The king met her gaze. “Why hide your association with Claudio?”

“Because he doesn’t trust us.” Isabela reiterated, crossing both arms. “Just like that prince of bastards, said.”

Varric’s brow furrowed. “What I’d like to know, is how you even managed to get a source _inside_ the Crows. They’re not known for their altruism—even to kings.”

Alistair dug an elbow into the table, his jaw set in a way that said he had no other alternative. “The ‘source’ I mentioned having, is a man named Zevran Arainai: a former companion of mine, and an ex-Crow.”

The pirate nodded. “They know Zev. We helped him out of a bit of trouble not long ago.”

Varric snapped his fingers. “I knew the name sounded familiar—he was that elven assassin you tried to get Hawke to rut with behind those rocks.” Gaile frowned; he tossed Isabela a dubious glance. “And, you’re telling me your friend just happens to know the King of Ferelden?”

A shrug. “Zevran knows a lot of people.”

A smirk. “Like you know a lot of people?”

Amber orbs met her own. “Knew a lot of people.” A _smile_ —and even though the pirate glanced away, she looked _happy_ for it. “A good man is hard to find. But a hard man…” Isabela smirked, “Point is, he’s reliable—more than most of the scum I’ve met. And, very good at what he does.”

Alistair agreed with a nod, looking to her again. “Zevran was the one to put me in touch with Claudio. He, in turn, sent me…evidence.” He folded his hands. “That evidence is what brought me here. What brought all of you, here.”

A raised brow. “Then, it was _very_ convincing, indeed…”

Isabela suddenly leaned forward, looking him straight in the eye. “Look—I don’t know what Claudio told you or showed you—but I know _exactly_ what he is, and what his type are capable of. There isn’t a thing he wouldn't do to get what he thinks, his.”

“The more I hear about this charming fellow, the more I simply _adore_ him…” Gaile pinched a section of their tablecloth between her fingers, “ _My_ , but it _has_ been too long since I’ve wanted to repeatedly stab someone…”

“ _What_?” Varric exclaimed, brows elevated in mock surprise. “You’re telling me you _don’t_ want him over for noonday tea? Well, powder my wig and call me Orlesian.”

She grimaced. “Do you remember the Bone Pit?”

“That mine you owned a share in that was always one hair away from disaster?”

A nod. “I hate him more than the Bone Pit.”

Isabela ignored them, leaning back into her seat. “You don’t trust us—fine. Just make sure to extend him the same courtesy. He’d see you dead in an alley, before ever doing a favor that wasn’t in his best interest.”

Alistair stood from the table, turning away. “I know.”

Varric shot her a concerned look, nudging his head toward the retreating king before vacating his seat as well.

Gaile sighed, watching them fade into darkness. “Heavy is the head that wears the crown.”

“Men…” an unimpressed scoff; “They hit one little bump in the road, uncover a shocking truth or three, and they’re balled up, sulking, in a corner.” The pirate crossed her arms, again. “They really are the most fragile things….”

“Be nice.” She grinned. “I don’t think there are a handful of people in Thedas, half as strong as you.”

A pinky trailed her finger. “I can think of one.”

Another smile. She grazed the inside of her thumb. “If you say Aveline, I’ll not talk to you for a week.” Isabela chuckled; she loosed a slow stream of air. “What’s your take on all this?”

“A job’s a job.” She shot her a look; the pirate sighed. “He’s a good person, with good intentions—which means we’ll all probably end up with pointy little knives sticking from our backs.” Another scoff. “I learned that well enough from being around you.”

“You _loved_ it.”

A grunt.

Gaile smirked…before it fell away, her eye to the shady corner. “…I think he just wants to survive this with his dignity intact.”

“That’s the problem with you hero types: you want to clean the muck, but not get your hands dirty.” She frowned; Isabela glanced off in the distance. “Dignity’s something you tell yourself you have when there isn’t anything left.” A beat. The other grabbed her hand — looked at her with sharp eyes. “You aren’t him. You know that, right?”

A soft smile. “I think those are our drinks.”

Their scantily clad server weaved her way through the crowded floor, a remarkably full tray expertly balanced on a single hand.

“Well—I tried.” Varric huffed, slipping back into his seat.

“Did my stalwart dwarf with the heart of gold, fail?”

“Let’s just say it ended with him reaffirming his vast unfamiliarity with me and my family.” He shifted on his stack of pillows. “Respectfully, of course.”

Isabela smirked. “It’s the strangest thing: just about everyone I’m close to was a stranger at some point.” She draped a calf over the other. “Will he be joining us, or is there still moping to be done?”

“Rivaini — you and I both know nobles require a delicate touch. They need to brood for half an hour or more before making any important decisions.”

A flash of red; a smile. “I hope the wait was not too burdensome.”

“Not at all.” Gaile returned the expression. “We were all just saying how tired we were of talking…”

“I _see_.” She lowered her tray, placing two foamy flagons and a pitcher between Varric and Isabela, before glancing to the empty set of pillows, “Your friend has left?”

“He had to use the privy.” Isabela supplied. “But I’ll personally make sure it gets to him…Or, me.” A shrug of the shoulders. “Either way, I _promise_ it gone before you get back.”

She nodded, releasing the gin and plate of sliced limes before lifting a snifter of deep amber…Her fingers lingered on a rounded edge as she set it in front of her. “Free.” Gaile’s brow rose; the server smiled again. “A man—sitting there—wished to pay for it.” A vague gesture to a table behind her. “He gives his regards.”

“Does he?” Gaile grinned, glancing up to see several men ‘regarding’ her; she captured the glass, saluting them all. “How _neighborly_ …”

The golden brandy was swirled, allowed to breathe…before she gently tilted the snifter to her lips.

It danced on her tongue; slid its way to the back of her throat and burned….

Gaile shivered. Set the glass back to the table.

“ _Mm_ …”

The redhead smirked softly. “It meets your expectations?”

“It is _divine_ …”

Green orbs darkened; the woman reclaimed her tray. “If there is anything else you need,” a subtle shift closer, “anything at all, _belleza_ …” a secret smile, “do not hesitate…”

She circled a finger along her rim. “Never.”

“Ah, _shit_ …” sworn under the breath.

She waggled her brows at Varric.

“Your food will arrive shortly.” Given to the table—and with one last, lingering glance, the woman turned away, making her way back across the room.

“Have I mentioned how unfair it is, you get both men _and_ women?”

“Excuses, Varric? You’re better than that.” He snorted; she smirked, taking another measured sip of brandy. “I’ll have you know, if you hadn’t foolishly covered all that _glorious_ chest hair with that metallic _fiend_ , I wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“Is there any particular reason _I_ wasn’t invited to play in your game?” Isabela inquired, refilling her mug.

“Because I’d get terribly jealous. No one wants to see that.”

The dwarf grinned. “And we need a judge. Who better than our favorite, licentious sea captain?”

“You say just the _sweetest_ things…”

A dark-skinned, bare chested elf suddenly arrived at their table, a large slab of wood containing two covered platters, laid across his arms.

Isabela eyed him and the food, appreciatively. “The one with rabbit’s, hers.”

One of the large plates was set in front of her, the other in front of the pirate.

She eyed hers curiously. “You never did tell me what paella is…”

“Rice with the meats I mentioned earlier, and a few vegetables tossed in. I also wouldn’t be surprised if they snuck bits of fish in there.”

The man removed both coverings at the same time, a billow of steam erupting from each as he provided them with utensils.

The pirate eyed the steam with a particular gleam in her eye, before speaking Antivan, again, the elf dipping his head, before departing.

Isabela closed her eyes, inhaling the pungent aroma, “It’s been _ages_ since I’ve last had a decent plate of this…”

Gaile looked to the other woman.

Her food.

Back.

“Bela?”

“Mm?”

“The rice…it’s black.” She poked it cautiously with a fork. “Should I tell it to be gentle to my poor, Fereldan tongue?”

A smirk. “It’s been stained with the ink of a squid.”

“…Nothing’s ever simple with you, is it?”

The pirate’s expression grew as she reached for her own fork, gathering several of the blackened grains to bring to pursed lips, before guiding it to her mouth.

She hesitated. “It…isn’t going to kill me, right?”

“Open your mouth.”

“You know, in any other situation—”

“Gaile.”

She sighed, opening her mouth obediently as a wooden fork rested delicately on her tongue.

Her hands curled in her lap; her mouth closed…only to be assaulted with the sharp taste of salt and fish, and—

 _And_ —

The _ocean_ …

She opened eyes she hadn’t recalled closing; Isabela smiled. “Good?”

“Well. It isn’t the mystery meat stew at the Hanged Man, but I suppose it’ll do…” the pirate rolled her eyes. “What? They’ll be penalties to my experience if I act outside my alignment.”

The woman ignored her, scooping her own helping, eyelids fluttering when she finally swallowed. “ _Oh_ …” moaned, “it’s _perfect_ ….”

Varric tsked, lowering his flagon. “We’re in a brothel, for Andraste’s sake, and the two of you, eating, is what’s making everyone blush.”

“It’s a gift.” Isabela smirked. “Want some?”

“Alas, ‘dark and inky’ does not a healthy dwarven diet, make.”

A shrug. “Your loss.” She stole a piece of rabbit from her plate, plopping it in her mouth gleefully.

Gaile scoffed, amused. “You do know you can order some perfectly cooked rabbit, of your own?”

“Why?” Another stolen chunk. “That's what you're for.”

“ _Right_ …” she speared a cut of sausage. “Lovely system, that.”

“That was the biggest piece!”

“And it was _delicious_.”

“‘Hawke retorted smugly’.”

“Varric.”

He raised a hand. “Just making sure I get the dinner scene right for the new novel. Fan service, and all.”

Gaile sighed, spotting their red-headed server again, a leather wrapped bottle in her hands. “If you say _that’s_ from a patron, I’ll have to go and shake their hand.”

A smirk. “You wanted one, no?” She leaned forward, handing it to her. “A shipment came for the kitchen. I managed to slip a bottle away.”

“You _spoil_ me…”

Something slammed against the table. “Oh look: we’re out of beer.” The pirate draped both legs across her lap. “Be a dear, and fetch some more?”

The woman stared with narrowed eyes; Isabela plucked the bottle from her hands—caressed its slender neck…before uttering a low string of Antivan.

A hand quickly retrieved the drained pitcher, the server departing without another word.

Varric whistled. “Shit — what’d you say, Rivaini?”

“That she had the prettiest eyes….” Gaile grinned; the pirate tucked the bottle away, capturing the abandoned gin and two wedges of lime—downing it smoothly. “Here.” She pointed the other wedge to her brandy. “The bitterness will make it sing.”

“I do love singing…” a sharp suck…She took another sip. “Oh…” a breath. “ _Oh_.” Her lids fluttered. “ _Shivery_.”

Isabela smirked, fondling the wedge still in hand. “From what I was told, I would suck on these all the time as a babe.”

“Bitter from the womb, eh?” She trailed buckles and leather.

The pirate laughed.

“Think I’ll check on our pitcher.” Varric rose from his pillows. “With the way you scared our server off, Rivaini, I’d be surprised if we ever see a drink, again.”

Gaile eyed him suspiciously. “This wouldn’t be some underhanded ploy to try and catch up, would it, Varric?”

“You _wound_ me.”

The dwarf left with a smirk, the elf who’d brought their food, returning in his wake to place a strange looking device on their table.

Isabela reclaimed her legs, shifting closer with a grin. “I thought you’d forgotten us.” She scanned the device with eager eyes, grabbing hold of a long, thin hose. “Everything set up?”

Gaile watched the man nod—raise a forearm carrying a small cylinder by a leather strap: he secured a pair of tongs, allocating startling red coals to a bowl on the device covered with perforated metal.

“…I’m…actually afraid to ask…”

The pirate chuckled, passing along a few silvers, before the elf nodded his thanks, and went on his way. “It’s called a narguile. More social, than anything, but it leaves the sweetest little buzz…” her nail trailed the ridges of the hose’s tip, “It’s also considered fairly intimate.” Her eyes sparkled with mirth. “You don’t just let anyone share your high, you know.”

Gaile grinned. “And why share this ‘intimate’ act with me?”

“I like you.”

“ _Blush_.”

Isabela smirked, lifting the ribbed tip to her lips, taking several, long _drags_ …before motioning with a single finger for her to come closer. Her brow raised warily—a hand snaked to the back of her head, exacting lips pressing against hers; she parted her mouth helplessly, the pirate exhaling in a slow, steady stream.

Her eyes widened, the smoke tickling her lungs, tearing her eyes, before retreating into a warm, pleasant haze….

Gaile backed away, a thread of white connecting their lips.

They traded lazy smiles.

She watched her lover take the mouthpiece, again, another _deep drag_ …until she released a plume of smoke—only to smoothly inhale it again. The pirate leaned forward, lips forming a perfect ‘O’ as she pushed out a wispy, white ring, a smaller ring blown smoothly through the first.

 _Smirked_.

Gaile stared — _transfixed_. Because: Sweet. **_Maker_**.

 _That_.

was…

 ** _so_** —

She did not **_let_** her retreat, tugging on the cords of the woman’s tunic, pulling her _back in_ … for a smoky kiss that _numbed_ her senses….

“It’s,” She parted for air — but, Maker—if she were _honest_ —she feared being **_consumed_** … “It’s been too long…” Amber orbs darkened with agreement; Gaile shook her head weakly. “One of us really should check on our gracious benefactor…”

“No doubt he’s still moping in that corner.” Soft lips trailed her skin. “ _Let him_ …”

Her eyes closed; another kiss. A slow, push of air. “It won't be long.” A throaty objection. “I’ll make it up to you…” Gaile caught the pirate’s hand, working a thumb along each knuckle—placing it on her chest. “Cross my heart.”

Isabela sighed, backing away, only to reach for the hose again. “Don’t you dare be surprised if all your rabbit’s gone by the time you get back.”

She grinned, rising from her stack of pillows before the other changed her mind, heading toward the shadowy corner the king had retreated to, earlier.

A whore cackled, leading a portly man upstairs.

“Alistair?”

No answer.

A frown. She turned to the lone window, darkness pierced through by slivers of moonlight.

“Careless.” A hard tone—underscored by an Orlesian accent. Her blood ran cold. “ _Sloppy_. Champion of Kirkwall.”

A knife was in her hand.

“It would end poorly.” An armored foot emerged from the shadows, a stark expression, clear even under the drape of a hood. A spiny emblem seemed to burn against the man’s chest, encompassing a single, unblinking eye. “I don’t suspect you’d favor an incident in so public a place.”

She eyed a crooked sword. “I’m quite good at causing incidents in all sorts of places.”

A smile that held no cheer. “Did you honestly believe a king could leave his country and not draw notice? More so when he travels with champions…” her hold tightened; he nodded. “Yes. I not only know who you are, but the identities of your companions—most notably, a known raider you’ve made accomplice for over a year. And while you’ve done an admirable job avoiding capture at sea, I could arrange yours, hers, and her crews', detainment, quite easily on land.” His eyes were merciless, falling on her weapon again. “Put it _away_.”

Gaile grit her teeth. Returned the knife. “Who are you?”

“The right hand of the Divine. Beyond that, you need not know.”

“Chantry.” She spat the word back at him. “Well, you’re no lay sister. And that isn’t the plate of a templar.” The man was silent; her eyes narrowed. “I’ve had such _luck_ with your lot…Tell me: are you all just born crazy or does it come with initiation?”

Another rigid smile. “It is…regrettable. I do not have to tell you the reward if you were brought in—not to mention all that would be solved.” His jaw set. “But. For the time, your assistance weighs more than your capture.”

“Is the Chantry in the business of blackmail, these days?” Gaile scoffed. “What am I saying—no doubt it’s the oldest of your tricks.”

“You know a man I search for.” _Ignored_. “Feynriel?”

She eyed him strangely. “A name I haven’t heard in years. What of it?”

“He is in Tevinter. An unshackled apostate capable of entering the Fade at will—because you _allowed_ it.” Hissed through his teeth. “Now, he may be in league with an even greater threat. Another maleficar who shares his power.”

“And, if this maleficar succeeds, he’ll destroy the _world_ …” a withering gaze she returned. “I’ve heard this tale before. Skip the hyperbole and get to the point.”

“Your insolence is _staggering_.” The man stepped toward her, blocking all else from view. “Do you even _know_ the widespread implications your selfishness has caused?”

“I have a feeling you’re about to tell me…”

A scowl. “The mages look at the Kirkwall Rebellion and use your name as a war-cry — what was once understanding and obedience, is now vengeance and hostility.” His expression darkened further. “Are you familiar with the Libertarians?”

“A faction of the Circle that wishes autonomy. As well as complete severance from the Chantry.” The man looked impressed; her eyes narrowed. “My father, was once a mage in the Circle—before he escaped his prison. Did you think I would not know of such things?”

A patronizing smirk. “That ‘faction’ had the audacity to call a motion for the abolition of Circles in Thedas — a motion which was wisely extinguished with the help of more loyal Enchanters. But the balance has _shifted_.” Cold eyes regarded her with pure disdain. “In order to snuff out the fires of resistance you encouraged, the Chantry dissolved the College of Enchanters. Now, there are even more rumblings of ‘revolution’. Rumors of templar plans to renounce the Chantry.” **_Disgust_**. “Madness. Anarchy. All of which can be laid at your feet.”

“Because I chose to support innocent mages from a Knight Commander who’d clearly gone insane?” She did not _flinch_ , taking her own step forward — meeting those hateful eyes. “She would have had them _killed_. All of them _slaughtered_ for the crime of _one man_.”

“ _Irrelevant_.” A hand seized the clasp of her cloak. “You don’t get to play war and then just _run away_.”

Gaile caught his wrist, driving her nails into flesh. “And yet, here you are. _Groveling_ , all the same.”

His grip tightened. “The thought of the Chantry needing any one person to _fix_ what it has solved for _ages_ …” The man’s fist _shook_ …before he released her. “But, the Divine wishes peace; you get results, Champion. You also hold sway with the target.” Clinical. The man lifted his chin. “Enemy or no, you have a record of meeting other’s needs when properly motivated.”

“ _You won’t go near her_.”

A knife to his throat.

The man smiled.

“It won’t stop. There will come a day when you will face judgment…and we will make you answer for every one of your crimes.” A threat. A promise. “But. I offer you time — more than you had. With your pirate.” Red spilled down his neck. “There will be a caravan in Seleny in two days time. Make sure you are on it.”

He stepped away, capturing the drop of blood with an amused sniff, before disappearing in the deep shadows of the abandoned space.

Gaile glared at the darkness.

Smothered the pummel in her hand.

Hurled the blade at a wall.

 _Shit_.

 ** _Shit_**.

Her heart roared in her ears. Her breaths were broken pants.

She gripped the sill of the window.

She—

She had to—

 ** _Shit_**.

She had to return.

Get _control_.

Isabela would—

A choked gasp. An immediate **_pain_**.

…look for her.

Gaile gripped the sill tighter.

Breathed.

Breathed.

…Until.

She ran a hand through her hair. Smiled at the reflection staring back at her in the glass. Smiled until it resembled something _real_.

Another breath.

 _Okay_.

Her hands released the sill.

She made her way back to their table, instantly noticing their royal companion, back in his seat.

“I see you managed to find our table without me.”

Alistair smiled tightly, an apology in his eyes. “I…needed a bit of air.”

“I see.”

Isabela raised a brow at her.

Gaile smiled, winking it away.

“So!” She fell into her seat, capturing her glass of brandy. “What are we talking about?”

Varric lowered his beer. “Money bags, here, was just giving us the details on this ‘Velabanchel’ Claudio was going on about. Apparently, it’s _lovely_ this time of year.”

Alistair sighed. “It’s a prison—operated by the Crows. And it makes the archive we snuck into seem as welcoming as,” he paused, gesturing to their surroundings, “well, _this_.”

A lengthy swig. “You’re right, Varric—it _does_ sound lovely.”

The dwarf chuckled. “I was just asking Rivaini if we should start baking a cake.”

Isabela rolled her eyes. “That _never_ works.”

The king folded his hands. “The locals call it ‘The House of Graves’, a place where the Crows throw the occasional party and lock their enemies away to torture. An intruder would spend the rest of his days shackled and forgotten in a miserable cell.” He looked to her with sharply furrowed brows. “I want to be clear: what I need to find, is in that prison—but, that isn’t your burden to bear. If you want to leave, now, I won’t stop you.”

Gaile drained the rest of her glass—closed her eyes…before standing to her feet, taking Isabela’s hand.

“Come on.”

The pirate looked surprised — it lasting a few, precious moments — before melting into a smirk as she let herself be led away. “Am I another conquest for you to flaunt to Varric?”

She pulled the woman near, idling by the warmth of a hearth. “You’re the one that matters.” The other scoffed, eyes drifting away in that way she _adored_ when she’d actually managed embarrassing her; a hand slipped to her waist. “I promised to make it up to you, didn’t I?” The smirk returned; her free hand tangled with her right. “And I like to think we haven’t been together so long that I’ve forgotten to woo you.”

Isabela chuckled. “‘Woo' me?” She draped an arm around her neck. “Well. If you’re trying to get me into bed…”

“ _Later_ ,” she let it rumble in her throat, feeling the other shiver, “For now…It’s a nice night for an evening.” Shared grins. “And time, still, for me to practice my _Antivan accent_ ….” The pirate rolled her eyes, smiled that, ‘Balls. I fell for this idiot’, smile — and her chest **_squeezed_** —

And,

All she _wanted_ was a few seconds more—‘ ** _longer_** ’. Where the other didn’t have to _know_.

Gaile led her in a turn.

“Mm…” Isabela nestled against her, pressing closer, “you scared me.” Her eyes widened. “Earlier. At the archive. You just…” a break in her voice, “started _shaking_ …”

She was glad they could not see each other. “I’m all right, now.”

“Are you?” Another turn. “Gaile…”

Her gasp was beautiful, the moment their lips met.

She didn’t want to think of _that_ — didn’t want _anything_ intruding on this moment… Her fingers teased the small patches of skin between the seams of her corset, until her hand settled low, claiming the part of her back that began to _flare_ ;

She caught the remnants of a smirk. “Don’t you dare start something you can’t finish….”

A slow grin. “Have I ever?”

A dirty look.

She laughed softly.

Gave herself to _it_.

 _Selfishness_.

It—

such a quiet fall:

She led; Isabela acquiesced.

Back. Forth.

And that was _all_.

A simple sway. To the low wail of dying music…

But it’s **_deeper_** —it’s **_them_**. Carving a notch out of time that was **_theirs_**.

Immeasurable…

 _Why_ —

Gaile held tighter.

Why did something _always_ try to **_take_** _that_ **_away_**?

“…Hawke.” She felt the pirate frown against her skin, even as she wouldn’t allow their bodies to part. “Dammit, Gaile—what’s wrong?”

“I am so lucky…” the question was ignored, “You’re beautiful.” She shook her head; cupped her cheek. “Not just this. Not just here,” her hand slipped to her chest, “ _here_. You are so _beautiful_ , here…” Isabela looked away; Gaile frowned. “I wish I said it more — I should say it _more_.” And she felt from the way the other _tensed_ , that the woman knew— _knew_ it to be so much more than _physical_ ; she rested her forehead against her temple. “You are a _wonder_ …”

“Sorry to ruin the moment, you two, but we’ve got a situation.” Varric. Apprehension and worry straining his features. “Turns out, his royal highness plans to break into that Crow prison, _tonight_. With or without us.”

Gaile bit her lip; Isabela backed away.

“He _wouldn’t_ …”

“He’s not bluffing, Rivaini. When I left him, he was already heading for the door.”

“Shit.” Her eyes narrowed. “Go catch up with him—stop him before he gets himself killed.”

Varric nodded, making his way to the entrance.

The pirate watched him, brows dipping as she looked back to her.

A soft kiss. _Apologetic_.

“Up for a prison break-in?” A practiced smile; Isabela pulled the hood back over her head. “This time, we do things _our_ way.”


	7. Innocence

* * *

   _The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere_

_The ceremony of innocence is drowned;_

* * *

 

“Well.” Varric readjusted a thick coil of rope draped around his shoulder. “This is depressing.”

“‘Last call at the Hanged Man’, depressing, or ‘secret underground lair full of ancient horrors’, depressing?” Gaile rejoined, eyes never leaving the stark, jagged cliffs looming before them.

The dwarf crossed his arms. “Finding out the worker at the Spring, eyeing you the entire night, had more facial hair than you do, depressing.”

“Varric.” A disapproving tone. “Don’t you know to never judge a book by its phallus?” 

Alistair sighed, the sound nearly swept away by the sound of crashing waves. “I don’t know if it’s impressive or upsetting, the two of you can be this carefree at the entrance of one of the most notoriously ruthless prisons in all of Thedas.”

Varric shrugged. “Call it, a defense mechanism for the constant threat of doom we tend to deal with on a daily basis.” He snorted. “You should have heard the jokes Hawke made right before she dueled the Arishok.”

“I considered speaking ill of the Arishok’s mother, but Varric advised against it.” She pushed off the wall of the pylon they huddled in; stood to her feet. “There. Isabela just gave the all clear—let’s go.”

The king freed his sword from its sheath. “That…was surprisingly simple.”

Varric kept a hand to his bundle as he ran beside her. “You’d be amazed, the progress one can make when they don’t go announcing their name and title to the guards.” 

Gaile smirked to herself; it had been a wonderful plan. Isabela had volunteered to subdue the lone sentry they spotted at the far end of an entry bridge, to gain them access into the intimidating fortress, undetected.

Of course, said plan included her lover diving into, what had to be _freezing_ waters and scaling the steep face of a cliff, barehanded—but the pirate assured her, she’d done it a thousand times before. 

It had not made her worry any _less_.

But — it had all turned out _fine_ , and Isabela casually leaned against the side of a grand archway, a smug tug to her lips and a wink just for her.

“Well. You three certainly took your time.” The pirate wrung her headscarf, tightly, the blue cloth what she used to signal them over, before replacing it back around her head. “Did you already brag to Alistair how much better it is to sneak about, than flail a sword around, like a mad man?” 

Alistair frowned; Varric smirked.

“Already done.”

Gaile removed the other woman’s dagger from her belt, presenting its curved handle. “I’m impressed.”

“It’s a start.” A smirk. Isabela reached out to reclaim it; she captured her hand, instead. 

She had caught the shiver in her tone, the slight tremor of her shoulders.

“You’re as cold as ice.” Dipped brows; she brought the pirate’s hand to her mouth, pushed soft, warm breaths to chilled skin.

Isabela smiled at the gesture, soft and particular in a way that said she was _grateful_ …before fingers met her lips. “I’d rather have you warm me up in other ways…”

A soft grin. “I’d bet.”

Gaile glanced away. Replaced her hand with the other’s dagger. Undid the clasp to her cloak.

It. Was still… _Hard_. To look at her…. 

Meet those amber eyes.

Because — _surely_ — it would only take a look, a moment too _long_ —and she would be left bare. And none of her secrets would be _hers_ any longer. 

A **pain**.

_Secrets_ ….

Maker:

Hadn’t she just gotten _rid_ of those?

Hadn’t they’d been _free_?

Gaile draped the cloak over the pirate's shoulders, letting her fingers pause and linger as she secured the clasp around her neck.

Because that was _normal_.

And she couldn’t—

**_Risk_** …

Varric whistled, head craned upward to the foreboding stronghold, high above. “Well, it’s definitely bigger, in person.” The dwarf looked back to them. “Anyone else getting that sinking, ‘why am I here, again’ feeling?”

Alistair was already at the gate, a single hand pressed against its bars. “I didn’t ask you to come here. And I gave the option for us to part ways at the Perfumed Spring.” He turned with cold eyes. “If you want to leave— _leave_. I’ll find a way back to Ferelden, on my own.” The king looked back to the gate. “We’ll find a way….”

“Don’t be such a crapehanger—we’re here, aren’t we?” Isabela placed both hands on her hips. “And, I don’t intend to miss out on the extra vat of jewels you’ll be paying, for helping do the impossible.” The pirate met the man at the barred entrance, brows furrowing, slightly. “But, there’s the tiniest, little snag.” She pointed to a lever. “This gate only opens from the inside. 

Gaile tsked. “And, you were doing so well, Isabela. I’d figured you thought up at _least_ several preemptive strikes with this surprisingly cognizant plan, of yours.”

The woman raised a single finger. “Step one: kill the guard at the entrance.” Another. “Step two…something exciting happens.” A third. “Step three: profit.”

She closed her eyes; sighed. “It isn’t even the plan, really—it’s the fact that I’m actually surprised.”

Varric chuckled. “Never fear: the sturdy dwarf, with the gorgeous crossbow, has an alternative.” He patted Bianca, before unfurling the rope he’d wrapped around his shoulder, revealing a grappling hook attached to a metal clip. “I figured this would come in handy for our break-in adventure.” A gesture toward the top of the structure. “And that small opening, there, should be just the right size, for a one dwarfed, surprise attack.”

“Varric—stop. You’ll make me swoon.”

He smirked, backing away to an appropriate distance. “You three wait here.” He leveled Bianca. “I’ll have that gate opened by the time any of you can recite a line from the Chant.”

“‘Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow. In their blood, the Maker’s will is written.’” A beat. All three of them looked her way. “What? You’d remember a few lines, too, if there was a fetching redhead at your Chantry.”

The dwarf shook his head, the sound of a fired weapon, filling the air — immediately followed by the satisfying ‘ _clang_ ’ of a grappling hook catching.

Varric gave an experimental tug on the rope, before planting his feet against the wall and making his way up.

Alistair returned his sword to his sheathe, watching him work. “That’s quite a crossbow.”

“ _Isn’t_ she, though — and, I’m not even a bow and arrow, type of girl.” Isabela sighed, wrapping the cloak tighter as she followed Bianca’s lazy sway. “I’ve wanted to show her a good time for _years_ , now, but that selfish little man never lets me.” The king raised a brow at her; she made her back to the tight nook of the archway. “So. Nothing to do, but wait, while Varric’s away.” A pointed stare at their royal companion. “And, since he’s gone and risked his life for your cause, a second time, let’s wade through the bullshit, and get to the heart of the matter, shall we?” Alistair turned away; her brows dipped sharply. “Why all the damned mystery?” There was no answer. “Just _who_ are we endangering ourselves for, to set free?”

Gaile crossed her arms. Stared at the ground.

Unable to take part in the interrogation.

**_Hypocrite_**.

_Who_ —

Who was _she_ to ask another to give up a secret they were convinced, _worth_ keeping?

How were they **_different_**?

Nails _dug_ into her palm.

She could not think of that. Of _truth_. Of the **result**. The.

_Anger_ , and **_heartache_** , and **pain** ….

Not when they still had a job to do—

Not when they had a task to _accomplish_.

After.

She bit the inside of her cheek. 

She would tell the pirate… _After_.

Alistair was still, back turned to them both…Until a hand reached out to clutch his pommel forcibly. “…This is why I wanted you all, to leave.”

“You still won’t tell us.” A low, incredulous tone; Gaile shut her eyes against it. “After everything we’ve managed to get you through—you still don’t trust us with a simple _name_?”

Silence.

Isabela groaned, tossing her hands in frustration. “What _happened_ to you?” _Accusing_. “Here I thought this was about having a few drinks, waving that big sword of yours, and recapturing the glory days with people who couldn’t care _less_ about your bloodline.” She stepped from the archway, stood right in front of him. “If you only wanted to give half-assed answers and scowl, I could have saved myself the blighted headache, and you could have sent over an army.”

His features darkened. “I’m not here as a king.” 

“But you _are_ a king.” 

Silence. The man hung his head. “Not a very good one.”

“ _Balls_.” _Sharp_ ; the pirate glared, jaw tight with irritation. “Only a good, bloody king would say that.”

The sudden _screech_ of metal.

“If you’re done bonding—would you mind _getting_ _over_ here?” 

Gaile turned, seeing Varric wrenching a lever backward, the gate between them springing open, as the chains of the mechanism rattled under the weight.

She stepped through the archway, the others quickly following after, before patting the dwarf on the back, appreciatively. “That may be your best time, yet, Varric.”

He released the lever, gritting his teeth. “About that. There may be a few Crows who decided to tag along.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Define, ‘a few’.” 

Bianca was in his hands. “…Everyone and their drinking buddy?”

Isabela sighed, releasing her daggers. “And of course, we’re running _toward_ them.”

Alistair stepped forth, through the open courtyard, sword and knife in hand. “They’re already here.”

Several Crows lined the edge of a nearby landing, carved, stoic faces and drawn swords; a hulking, shadowy figure, that eclipsed them all, left through a central archway. 

Gaile scoffed, nodding her head at the sight. “And, once again, the Maker has shown his _lovely_ brand of humor.” Her fingers wrapped around her own daggers, as the Qunari was illuminated in the moonlight. “Just _once_ , I’d like to go to a place were the people are happy to see us.”

“Pathetic creatures.” The Qunari’s voice rumbled, like steel against stone, his massive hands tightening around a long, barbed mace. “Perish.”

Each Crow sprung into action, as if given a direct order, darting towards the stairs on either side of the landing, that led to the lower level.

Varric fired several bolts, getting one of the soldiers through the socket of his mask, another in his ribs—he turned to Alistair. “Do you know where you’re going?”

The king’s mouth fell…before his brows sunk harshly. “Yes.” 

“Then get there.” Another well placed arrow, followed by a gurgled cry. “We’ll handle this.”

Isabela glared at the dwarf. “ _What_?”

“He’s right.” Gaile hurled a throwing knife, the small blade catching in a Crow’s throat. “There isn’t any point to this, if Alistair doesn’t get what he came for.”

Hesitation…. Before he bowed his head, gratefully, and ran to the other end of the courtyard.

“That one is mine.” Roared into the air when several Crows diverted to go after him; the Qunari extended an arm, pointing to them. “Kill the rest.”

Isabela blocked a sword, shoving the blade of her free dagger in the gut of an approaching Crow. “So—” an elbow to the ribs, “we’re bloody heroes, now?”

“It’s not so bad,” Gaile dislocated an unguarded shin, before twirling to slit the man’s throat, “once you get used to it.”

“Call me nostalgic.” Varric unloaded several bolts into a man’s jaw. “I thought we’d have a fight to the death.” A grunt of effort. “Like old times.’

“Or _not_.” Another soldier fell.

“Plan B, then?” The dwarf bashed the butt of Bianca’s barrel into a man’s stomach, shooting an arrow in the chest of the Crow behind him.

“…Leave them to Hawke?”

She evaded a forceful swing, driving a dagger into the junction of a shoulder. “The _other_ plan B!” 

“Oh. Well.” The pirate ducked. “Why didn’t you say so in the first place?”

Gaile threw a smoke bomb. 

They splintered off, running in different directions.

She made it to higher ground, pausing on the elevated landing where the Qunari once stood; she caught a disappearing coat tail out of the corner of her eye, the whip of a cloak out of the other. “Get back to the ship! I’ll find Alistair!”

A flash of worry—before her lover nodded, dashing up a fleet of stairs.

Gaile sprinted through the same central archway the Qunari had chosen, turning corners blindly and with only instinct to guide her—the anguished cries of, what felt like, _hundreds_. 

Wailing—

_Screaming_. 

Maker…

So much **_pain_**.

“Alistair!”

Swallowed. _Drowned_ in a sea of wretchedness and despair. 

“Alistair!”

Hands jutted through the bars of each door she passed. 

_Writhing_.

**_Filthy_**.

The wails only become _louder_.

She—

wanted to _clasp her hands around her ears_ …. 

Maker

Maker—make it _stop_.

Just. 

**_Stop_**.

Another corner, and she sees Alistair on the ground.

The Qunari loomed over him—like an inevitable _thing_ —mace arched high for the final blow. 

One—two throwing knives into the creature’s chest.

“ _Alistair_ —” and she doesn’t know if he can _hear_ her, “ _finish him_!”

The king reclaimed his sword, rose to slash, viciously, at the Qunari’s thigh, before cleaving the creature’s head, in two.

The area is _silent_.

And,

the sudden _shift_ —

is. _Just_. As deafening.

Her ears finally register harsh draws of breath; _pained_ ; **heavy**.

Her own breath. “Your arm—”

“It’s fine.” Hissed through clenched teeth; Alistair bent, relieving a set of keys from the jailor.

The shouts _resume_.

Gaile put her daggers away, watched the man approach a single door. It looked like all the others; except: No hand clawed through its bars.

Each key on the metal ring was tried…Until, the tumbler finally clicked, and the padlock fell, soundlessly, to the ground.

Alistair pushed the door open.

She wordlessly moved behind him, followed his eyes to a draped form, crouched in the corner of the cell.

_Maker_ …  

Mottled rags barely clung to the body they covered.

Alistair stepped forward, and the man looked _up_ , a faint light in dark, dead eyes.

Silence.

The two simply staring. Before—

“King Maric…?”

_King_ — 

_Maric_?

But. That. _Couldn’t_ be.

Her eyes widened: 

‘A something that shouldn’t even _exist_.’

“Too late.” A voice that cracked with age, as if it hadn’t been used to form words in _years_. “Much too late.”

Alistair closed his eyes. Pressed an arm to the wall.

Silence.

“Alistair.” No response; Gaile glanced behind them. “Alistair—we have to _go_.” She looked back the old man, the detriment of his muscles — how he was barely _there_. “Can you carry him?” Silence. Her brows furrowed. “Alistair, he may be able to answer your questions.” 

A moment…before the man pushed himself away from the wall. Faced her with a nod.

“Yes.” 

“Then stay close.” She slipped a knife into her hand. “We’re taking him back to the ship.” 


End file.
